"I’m starting to think Kyle’s got a point," sighed Frank, looking round the dining table the next morning at the four young men, "our numbers do seem to be dwindling by the day."

"…and then there were four!" agreed Mark feeling depressed.

"Three down, four to go!" Kiwi joined in.

"Well, we’ll just have to make do. Let’s take an inventory of what we’ve got." Frank bent down and pulled a box from under the table, the contents of which held the ‘clues’ they had collected. He started to pull them out of the container, reeling off the items like a checklist as he went:

"One threatening note, with envelope," he stopped and lifted an eyebrow, "as we know, there’s no point having a forensic test done, as the wonderful Bramwell Kyle managed to contaminate the paper by ‘illegally’ opening it," he paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "one torn pocket…one scarf-come-blindfold…one blanket…the ring - still around Rob’s neck…erm…erm…" (the one side of his mouth twitched, as he was teasing Rob and Mark now) "…what’s left Kiwi?" he asked his friend and winked, his eye twinkling, Kiwi winked back and shrugged his shoulders. "Erm…Oh yeah! And a name and address of maybe one of the criminal gang – possibly our best lead yet." He waved the address smugly in the air.

Rob made a grab for the piece of paper, snatching it cleanly from Frank’s fingers. "Where did this come from?" he asked surprised.

Frank sat down, "I ran a check on the Toyota."

"So this Mike Gregg is the owner, and this is his address?" asked Mark, taking the slip of paper from his brother.

"Well, the car’s registered to him anyway."

"Then we should go round there and sort him out!" said Rob, his voice taking on a growling quality. They all watched as the muscles at the corner of his jaw flexed.

"NO!" snapped Frank, deciding to tackle Rob head on before he got carried away, "we step carefully, if we go in there like a bull in a china shop, all that’ll happen is that Mike’ll run, and we’ll be no closer to solving this thing than yesterday."

Rob folded his arms tightly and slouched back into his chair, after a short pause he nodded stiffly in agreement and gave one of his customary "humphs".

"So, what’s the plan of action Frank?" asked Mark.

"A stakeout - we take turns watching the apartment and follow him everywhere he goes, eventually, he’s bound to trip up. He might even lead us straight to the stolen museum pieces."

"Turn the tables you mean?" Kiwi said, smiling mischievously.

"Sort of, yeah. We’ve spent too much time being the chased and followed, now it’s time for a bit of role reversal."

"What about the car?" began Mark, "Mike must know Rob’s Ford by site now!"

"Already thought of that," Kiwi spoke up, taking Frank by surprise, "I made a couple of phone calls and hired a car, a really normal, boring looking hatchback!"

"Kiwi, my friend, you’re learning!" exclaimed the older Hardy brother, grinning.

"Thanks Mate!"

***

Frank joined the others after explaining to Joe where they were going and they climbed into the cars.

The hatchback had been delivered and they were all satisfied to note that although the car was plain and nondescript, there was a powerful engine housed under the hood. "You did good, Kiwi," Frank complimented.

The New Zealander and Frank climbed into the hatchback together, and Kiwi pulled away from the house with Rob and Mark following in the Ford.

With Frank navigating, it took them half and hour to reach their destination. Upon arrival, the older Hardy brother directed his friend to pull over half a block from the high-rise block of apartments. It was plain to see by everyone that the area the building was situated in was rundown.

As Frank exited the car, he surveying the pot-holed road, litter festooned streets and vandalized buildings. "Nice!" he commented sarcastically to Kiwi, who had walked around the other side to meet him, along with Rob and Mark.

"Yes, really classy neighborhood!" agreed Mark, looking up and down the road anxiously, "We couldn’t have brought the BMW out here, it wouldn’t have lasted five minutes."

"Looks like Mr Gregg thinks so too, just look at his car!" laughed Kiwi. They looked in the direction he was indicating and saw the red Toyota parked outside the main entrance, side on. There were two wheel clamps on the two tires they could see - undoubtedly the other wheels were clamped too.

"Hardly ready for a fast getaway," Frank commented, "doesn’t look like he’s expecting us, which means we didn’t pick up any tails on our way over here, and therefore still hold the element of surprise."

They all jumped as Mark’s cell phone started to ring, he pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen, "it’s a call from home," he remarked surprised, flicking open the mouth piece, "must be Joe, wonder what he wants?" he pulled up the aerial, placed it to his ear and pressed ‘answer’.

"Hello?…[silence]…Hello, Joe is that you?…[still more silence]. Mark pulled the phone away from his head and consulted the analogue screen again to see if they’d become disconnected, "hello? You there Joe?" he asked again. Mark’s brows knitted together and he looked at Frank and shrugged his shoulders, "if it’s Joe, he’s not saying anything - all I’m getting is some clicking so it must be a bad line, although I think I can hear someone breathing!"

Frank took the phone and listened himself, after a couple of seconds he looked sharply at the others, "it’s not a bad line, it’s Morse code, Joe’s trying to tell us something, he must be tapping on the receiver."

"What’s he saying?" asked Kiwi.

"Shush," Frank ordered, holding his palm up, trying to listen. The other three grouped around him, waiting impatiently. Finally, he looked up again, his face deadly serious. "We gotta get back there…NOW!" he snapped urgently, already reaching for the door handle to get back into the car.

***

Joe headed upfield, clutching the football protectively to his chest, feet pounding past the yard markers. He dodged and twisted, eluding the opposing players, counting on his blockers to clear a path for him. Hearing the horn blow as the clock ran to zero, he knew he had to make this run count. "It’s not over till the ball’s dead!" ran through his mind as he stiff-armed a would-be tackler and pushed his aching legs to run just a little further, a little harder.

He could see the goal line ahead now, tantalizing him, for it seemed to get no closer, no matter how many strides he took. He felt as if he was wading in treacle, but doggedly pushed on. Glancing behind, he saw Biff slam into one last opposing tackler, ensuring a clear field ahead. With a final burst of determination, he launched himself into the air and dove into the end zone. The line judges raised their arms, signaling a touchdown, and Joe rolled onto his back, holding the ball high.

"YESSSSSSSS," Joe shouted out in delight, punching the air. He looked at the ball in triumph, then realized it had changed into a telephone. "Oh, no – it’s all a dream, isn’t it?" he asked himself ruefully. He lay back down in the grass and closed his eyes, "for Pete’s sake!"

Opening his eyes he realized the phone was ringing downstairs. He thrust the bedcovers aside and quickly got to his feet. Before he could take a step forward, however, his head started to spin and his vision clouded over with a head rush. He sat back down heavily to wait it out.

The phone quit it’s ringing and the answer machine kicked in. Alex’s voice was heard filtering faintly up the stairs "Alex, Helen and Mark are unable to come to the phone right now, but if you’d like to leave a message…well, you know the drill [beeeeeeep]. There was a pause and then a familiar voice came on the line.

"Whoa! Gotta get this one," thought Joe urgently. He was forced to raise himself onto his feet again before his vision had cleared fully and weaved his way towards the door like a drunk, groping for the doorknob. Finally his eyesight became lucid and he found himself out on the landing and began clumsily descending the stair, "wait for me!" he thought frantically.

By the time he was reaching for the phone, all he could hear was sobbing from the person on the other end, he snatched it up and turned off the answer phone, "HELLO? HELEN? DON’T HANG UP!" he shouted, hearing her voice getting fainter as she prepared to replace the receiver. He was dead sure she would have heard him too, and would have stayed on the line - if only some sort of noise had come out of his mouth other than the pitiful squeak that emanated from his voice-box.

He hit the ‘play’ switch, and listened to Helen’s message, his anxiety growing with each passing second - this was worse than he’d feared.

It was only after listening to the message that he remembered the telephone in Helen’s room that had been sitting next to him the whole time. Frank had unplugged it earlier to ensure his brother an undisturbed sleep. Joe clenched his fists and glared wickedly at the phone, fighting the temptation to pick it up and throw it, instead, he grabbed up the receiver, rang Mark’s number and picked up a pen. He hoped the younger Randall brother would have the good sense to pass Frank his mobile, as he planned to relay a Morse coded message to his brother by tapping against the receiver with the biro.

***

The four young men burst in through the front door and careered through into the sitting room.

"JOE!?" Frank shouted frantically, scanning the room for any sign of his brother. Feeling a sharp tap on his shoulder, he spun around and looked straight into Joe’s blue eyes. He was struck dumb for a second and shook his head in utter bemusement, failing to understand why Joe sent such an urgent and bizarrely delivered message when there was patently nothing wrong. "Joe? What’s going on?" he asked, "I was really worried."

His brother opened his lips to answer and then stopped and rolled his eyes. He pointed at his mouth and shook his head.

"Stop playing games Joe, and just tell us what it is that was SO important, we had to hotfoot it back here!"

Joe gritted his teeth and tapped his throat and then his lips.

"COME ON JOE!" Frank yelled, getting angry.

Joe replied by stamping his foot with frustration, glaring back and pushing his brother in the shoulder, sending him back a couple of steps.

"Erm, Frank," said Rob calmly, "I think your brother’s trying to tell you he’s lost his voice."

Joe raised his hands in the air heavenwards and looked to the sky’s in an ‘alleluia’ gesture.

Frank felt like a heel and hit himself in the forehead "Oh Jeez, sorry Joe, I didn’t realize."

His brother wasn’t listening however, and had already grabbed Mark by the arm and was hauling him into the hallway to play the message back. He pressed the switch and stood back to enable Mark to stand in front of the machine.

"This is Helen…" they heard her start.

Mark grinned at Joe, but his smile froze when he saw the worried expression on his friend’s face.

Helen had halted at this point, her voice having wound down to nothing, obviously not sure of what to say. Suddenly it started up again, "I’m sorry I left the show like I did, I just couldn’t stay any longer and watch another person I love die in front of me. Please understand that if I’d stayed, you’d all be in danger. The simple truth is that I’m poison to anyone who gets near!" Mark looked across at his brother, his eyes wide. Every time I get close to someone, something happens to take them away - first mom and dad, then Alex and finally Frank!" She was crying openly at this point, the next part of the speech coming out in short panting bursts. "I’m sorry Joe, if it wasn’t for me, you’d still have a brother. Better for everyone if I just go, and make the world a better and safer place for you…" there was a short pause and the sound of more receding sobbing, and then the message ending suddenly, at the point Joe had switched off the answer phone.

The atmosphere in the room was heavy and no one said anything for a long, long time. Rob and Mark were staring at one another, unblinking.

"What are we going to do?" asked Mark, his voice small.

Rob shook his head and stuck his hands deeply into his pockets.

"That was scary," commented Kiwi.

Joe picked up the pad of notepaper from the side of the phone and started madly scribbling, tore off the sheet and handed it to his brother to read.

"Yeah, I got that too Joe, she thinks I’m dead doesn’t she?"

Joe nodded and then went back to scribbling.

"Did she say what I thought she said?" asked Kiwi, "was she hinting at suicide?"

"God, I hope not," muttered Frank, accepting another piece of torn paper from his brother and scanning it. He nodded his understanding at Joe and turned to Mark and Rob, "have English phones got last number recognition?" he asked.

"Good thinking Joe," spluttered Mark, coming out of the morbid trance he’d fallen into at the mention of suicide. He picked up the receiver and dialed 1471, Joe handed him the notebook and pen and Mark jotted down the number that was dictated down the line to him, they could see his hand was shaking badly. He replaced the receiver and suddenly lurched over the table and gave off a dry gasp, Kiwi caught him and helped him into the lounge to sit down.

Frank instantly picked up the phone and started to punch in the number, but was interrupted by Joe putting his finger over the console, cutting off the partly dialed call.

"What are you doing?" Frank demanded.

Joe pointed at Rob.

Unable to interpret his brother’s meaning, Frank pushed the pad over to him.

Joe looked helplessly over at the older Randall brother, willing him to understand.

"You think it’d be better if I talked to her, don’t you?" asked Rob.

Joe nodded and put his hand on Frank’s shoulder.

"What are you Rob? Psychic or something?" asked Frank, "okay Joe, I see what you mean. It probably would be a bit of shock for her to hear my voice – go ahead Rob, you’ve known her much longer than me anyway."

Although he was unsure as to what he was going to say, Rob picked up the phone and quickly dialed the number. It only rang twice before it was answered, "White Swan Hotel," a deep, throaty female voice said.

Having mentally readied himself for talking to an emotional Helen, he was unprepared for this eventuality and began stuttering, "I…I…erm…ha…have you got…erm…someone called Helen Morris staying at your hotel?" he finally managed to splutter out.

The other person fell silent for a short time, and then the female voice came back on the line, speaking a little quieter, "would you hold the line a moment sir, and I’ll transfer you to our booking’s department…"

"Please, listen to me…" Rob interrupted.

"Sir, I can assure you, I need to transfer you to our booking’s department, please hold," she almost spelled out the last two words to him and Rob suddenly understood that she didn’t want the phone call to be overheard.

Joe and Frank looked at him expectantly, but Rob wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted. He turned his attention back to the phone when the woman came back on the line again.

"Am I speaking to Mark or Rob?" she asked, taking him completely off guard.

"Rob!" he spluttered in amazement.

She laughed softly and continued, "she’s told me all about you two, from what I heard, I’m not surprised you tracked her down – I’m Beverley by the way, Bev for short."

"Hello Bev,"

"That’s okay, I understand. Do you know where she is?"

"We had a really worrying answer phone message from her half and hour ago. If we head over to the hotel, can you keep your eye on her until we get there, make sure she’s safe?"

Rob jotted down the address, thanked Beverley and hung up.

He consulted his watch, it was already gone 12.00 noon. "Me and Mark have got to get to the White Swan Hotel at Alnwick, which is close to Newcastle upon Tyne - that’s where she’s staying apparently, and we have to go now."

"That’s the hotel Alex and Helen stayed at last year," realized Mark from the doorway, "It’s at least a five hour drive. I think we’d better take overnight bags." He and Rob started running urgently up the stairs to pack.

Joe went to the mantle and retracted the £2000 from the back of the clock and followed Mark and Rob more gingerly up the stairs, feeling a little woozy and headachy.

"Five down, two to go!" remarked Kiwi philosophically to Frank.