Jack Wayne tensed as he heard the door to the hangar being opened, and two sets of footsteps approaching his office. He sat down in his swivel chair, and attempted to control his emotions. He was apprehensive – no, Jack was scared – and his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls. "Look alive out there, here they come," he murmured.

"Well, Mr. Wayne, so you’ve finally come to your senses, hmm?" Small, mean-eyed Ernie stood in the doorway, the inevitable cigar clenched between his teeth. Big, burly Deke loomed over his shoulder.

"Hello Ernie…Deke." the pilot greeted them quietly. The two walked into the office and shut the door behind them.

"Looks like you had a little fire out in your parking lot, Wayne." Deke rumbled. "Lots of rubble out there – looked like a car fire, didn’t it, Ernie?" He eyed Jack menacingly. "Somebody might have been killed in that, mightn’t they?"

"You devil," Jack gritted. "If anything had happened to my little sister because of that, you wouldn’t be here now – you’d be at the morgue. I’d have seen to that personally."

Ernie snorted derisively. "Talk’s cheap, Wayne. But we’re here to get what’s rightfully ours." He reached into his pocket, and Jack stiffened, but the only thing Ernie produced was a small penknife. He opened a blade, and proceeded to stick it into one of the white blocks on Jack’s desk. When he pulled it out, a bit of residue stuck to the blade, and he removed his cigar from his mouth to touch his tongue to it.

"Okay, it’s real," he murmured to his companion, and opened the briefcase Deke handed him. "Now, Wayne," he continued, as he packed the bricks into the case. "we have one more thing we’d like you to do for us – and then you’ll never have to see us again."

"I’m through with you right now, Ernie. You have what you came for. We’re quits, as of now. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you – but it’s over."

Ernie smiled evilly. "You know, Wayne, I never figured you for stupid, but I guess I was wrong. Because only someone who was really stupid would ever try to double-cross us."

Double-cross them – uh-oh, what do they mean? Is he referring to what happened before? Did they hear something I said at home, with the – oh no, do they have this office bugged too? Fenton, Roger, where the hell are you guys? Get in here! Jack felt sweat break out on his forehead, but he attempted to look nonchalant and unconcerned.

"Double-cross you? You mean what I did before?" Jack attempted a weak smile, which faded as the two men suddenly both reached into their coats and produced ugly-looking handguns. "Hey, what’s with the guns?" he went on, raising his voice slightly to make sure the transmitter was picking up his words. "I gave you the coke. We’re square, right? Sure, I was dumb to think I could get away with cheating you – but I made good on it. Right? Now like I said, it was a pleasure doing business with you, but I can’t do this anymore."

"We’re not talking about before." Deke growled. "We’re talking about tonight."

"I thought that bomb would have showed you we meant business, Wayne." Ernie said. "You should have been smart enough not to try anything after that. But all this time, you were working with the DEA, trying to bring us down. Now how stupid is that? You don’t think we’re going to let you get away with something like that, do you?"

Jack forced a laugh. "What makes you think I’m working for the DEA? I’m a pilot, do I look like an undercover agent to you?"

Ernie reached into his pocket with his free hand and brandished a cell phone for a moment. "A little birdie told me, Wayne. A real informative birdie…one that was nice enough to warn us that you were double-crossing us for a third time – and that we ought to make alternate transportation plans out of here."

"Fortunately, we happen to know a good pilot." Deke put in, grinning at Jack’s alarmed expression. "Luckily for you, we can still make good money selling our stuff down in Mexico."

Jack looked at them in horror. "You want to fly all the way to Mexico in a prop job?"

"Nah," Ernie took over again. "we can take a commercial flight to Mexico – but we do need to get out of the country fast…as in tonight. Deke, what do you think about Toronto this time of year?"

"I like Toronto just fine," Deke rumbled approvingly. "Hey, can we take in a baseball game while we’re there?"

Ernie cast his partner a disgusted look. "Idiot, we aren’t going to have time to watch a stupid baseball game. Besides, it’s March; they aren’t even playing right now. The Raptors are playing basketball, not the Blue Jays." He gestured toward Jack with his gun. "Come on, Wayne, let’s go. We’re taking off for Canada – right now."

"Guys – Ernie, I can’t just walk out and take off – I have to file a flight plan with the tower…the planes aren’t fueled, or anything – "

"File a flight plan right now." Ernie prodded, shifting his cigar. "File it for somewhere close – like New Jersey. Once you’re in the air, you can change direction."

Jack reached slowly for the telephone and began punching buttons. "But the fuel…"

"Nice try, but I already checked the planes when we got here," Deke informed him. "They’re both full."

"Uh – I – uh – I don’t have my toothbrush with me." Jack made a feeble attempt at humor. "This will be an overnight flight, and my dentist says I should always brush – "

Deke shoved his gun into a pocket and balled up his fists. "Problem easily solved. You won’t need to brush your teeth if I knock them out, will you?"

"Okay, okay, simmer down!" Jack mentally groaned. This isn’t working…. He cleared his throat as the control tower responded to his call, and began filing a fictitious flight plan in a mechanical voice. When he hung up, he sat motionless at the desk, awaiting further instructions.

"Let’s go!" Ernie’s voice was sharp, and he motioned with the gun for emphasis. Jack slowly rose to his feet. He stood beside the desk, in front of the little side table, and clasped his hands behind him.

"Have you thought about where exactly you want me to take you?" he asked cautiously. "The big international airport at Toronto will be more likely to have drug-sniffing dogs, and more extensive x-ray equipment. Were you just going to keep that—" he indicated the briefcase with a nod, "—in your carry-on luggage? They’ll spot it in a minute."

Deke and Ernie exchanged glances; for the first time Ernie looked a bit worried. "Going to give us advice, or something?" the little man sneered.

"Well…I don’t want to be indicted for helping you, remember, and if you’re caught, I’m caught too." Jack didn’t have to fake it to make his voice quiver with fear. "If I take you to the Toronto Island Airport, you’ll have a better chance of pulling this thing off. I’ve flown into there before; I’m familiar with it." He smiled disarmingly. I’m lying through my teeth here; believe what I’m telling you Deke! Believe me, Ernie!

"Ah, okay." Ernie grunted. "Toronto Island Airport it is. As long as we can book a flight to Mexico from there….Let’s go, for Pete’s sake!"

"Can I get some coffee to take with me?" Jack made one more request, indicating the employee lounge across the hallway from his office. "You don’t want me getting sleepy while I’m flying. I’ll need to get my thermos out of the plane to fill it…."

"Okay, okay, go on. Deke, come on, get in the plane. We’ll be right there." He gestured toward Jack. "No funny business; I’m watching you every step."

Jack took a step back, apparently made nervous by Ernie’s gun. His fingers closed over a familiar plastic-coated object on the little table; he slid it flat against his palm and held his hand against his leg as he stepped forward. Deke exited the office, and Ernie stepped outside the door, the gun trained on Jack. The young pilot approached the doorway and snapped off the fluorescent ceiling panel as he went out; in the suddenly-dimmed light, neither Ernie nor Deke noticed a small object fall to the floor of the office.

*****

"Fenton – Fenton, can you hear me?"

Fenton Hardy groaned. He opened his eyes a slit, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Too-bright light assaulted his optic nerves, and he realized he had a pounding headache emanating from the back of his head.

"Fenton?"

"Don’t…shout." the detective rasped, holding his head. He realized that Roger Taylor was bending over him. "What happened?" He struggled up on his elbows, wincing.

"Someone kayoed me," the agent responded. He turned his head slightly, and Mr. Hardy saw a red mark on his temple. "Looks like they got you too. We’ve got trouble, Fenton – Jack is gone, the cocaine’s gone, and one of the planes is gone. I don’t know if Wayne triple-crossed all of us, and he’s fled along with his accomplices, or if he’s been hijacked. Either way, it’s bad."

"Jack wouldn’t have gone with them unless he was forced to it," Fenton declared. He allowed Taylor to assist him to his feet, and clung to the shorter man’s shoulder for a moment, letting a wave of dizziness wash over him and dissipate.

"I need to contact my superiors about this," Roger said. "And I’ll check with the control tower; it isn’t likely that Wayne would file a flight plan as to where he’s going, but it won’t hurt to check." He steadied Fenton, concerned. "Maybe you’d better sit down for a bit…come on, let’s go into Jack’s office…." He started toward the doorway, holding Fenton’s arm.

"It’s all right, Roger, I can make it." The detective waved him off. "You go ahead and check with the tower."

"Well, if you’re sure you’re all right…." The other man looked hesitant, but was already heading toward the outside door. "I’m going to go over there in person; if I flash my badge, I can get a printout of the filed flight plan." He bared his teeth in a smile. "I’ll be back as soon as I can. You take it easy for a few minutes."

"I will," Fenton assured him. He watched Roger exit the hangar, then moved again toward Jack’s office. I’ve got to call the boys, and tell them what’s happened – oh, Lord, I’m never going to hear the end of this! Frank insisted that we needed them here, and oh, how right he was! He reached for the light switch, flipped it on, and started into the cubicle. His foot came down on something slick, and skidded slightly; looking down, Fenton saw it was a plastic-coated baseball card. He frowned and bent to pick it up, grimacing as the change in position caused his head to throb. This is usually on that little table…how did it get here? He staggered toward Jack’s desk chair and practically fell into it, reaching for the telephone as he did so.

At the Hardy home, Frank and Joe were sprawled lazily on the couch in the family room, watching television. April was upstairs; Laura was helping the girl wash her long hair, something that was almost impossible for April to do by herself with her arm in a cast.

"Why haven’t we heard anything from Dad and Jack?" Joe fretted, looking at the clock. "It’s way past nine o’clock!"

"I know," his brother responded. "I’m worried too, but there’s nothing we can do except wait."

"I hate waiting!" Joe growled.

"You and me both, little brother," Frank agreed. "—but…" He was interrupted by the muted ring of the telephone. "There, that must be Jack, or Dad!" He leaped to his feet to grab the phone. "Hardy residence!"

Almost immediately, an alarmed expression crossed the boy’s face. "Dad? What’s happened? What’s wrong, you sound – what?" At Frank’s near-shout, Joe sat bolt upright, listening tensely to the one-sided conversation. "Oh, no….Yeah, I can….Okay, we’re on our way." He punched the off button and dropped the phone onto the table. "Come on, we’ve got to get to the airfield! Apparently Jack’s been hijacked; Dad and Roger Taylor were knocked out, and Dad says he wants me there, to pilot…he’s hoping to get a line on where they might have headed, and use the other plane—"

Joe snatched the TV guide from the couch and flung it violently across the room, where it narrowly missed a vase of flowers. "I KNEW this was going to happen!" he yelled furiously. "I knew we should have been there!" He reached for a tiny glass figurine on a side table, preparing to hurl it after the magazine, but Frank seized his arm.

"Are you crazy? Don’t throw that; it’s one of Mom’s favorites!" He shook Joe’s arm sharply. "Put it down, Joe; having a tantrum isn’t going to help anything right now!"

Reluctantly, the younger boy set down the little decoration. "Sorry," he muttered, then took a deep breath. "I’m okay now; let’s go."

"Go where?" a voice demanded. Both boys jumped and turned and beheld April Wayne, her damp, tawny hair cascading around her shoulders. "What’s wrong? Why is Joe so upset?"

"April—" Frank began, then paused. How can I tell her?

"Something’s happened at the airstrip, hasn’t it?" the girl asked. She limped across the room to confront the elder boy. "Tell me, Frank. Don’t lie about it."

"Someone knocked out Dad, and Jack and one of the planes are gone," Frank stated, bluntly. "Dad thinks he’s been forced to fly Deke and Ernie somewhere."

April turned so white that Frank made a hasty move to catch her, certain she was about to faint. "I knew it," she whispered. "I knew something bad was going to happen. Jack’s never coming back…"

"No, don’t say that!" Joe hurried to her side and put his arm about her. "It’ll be okay—"

She shrugged off his arm. "Why are we just standing around? We have to get to the airfield; come on!" April turned toward the door, but found herself restrained by both boys. "Let go of me!"

"April, you can’t go with us. It’s too dangerous. We’re going to have to pursue them, and you can’t go along. Deke and Ernie are armed and definitely dangerous…and you can’t stay by yourself at the hangar. That’s not exactly safe—" Frank used every ounce of persuasion he possessed, trying to convince her, but knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"I’ve already encountered those two, and I don’t care how dangerous it is. I’m going to help find Jack." she snapped, still struggling against them.

"April, listen to me…the last thing Jack would want us to do is let you put your life in jeopardy!" Frank tried again. "Please, do as I ask, and stay here with Mom. I promise, we’ll call you as soon as we know something….anything."

Now Joe spoke up. "April, I’m sorry, but Frank’s right. It’s too dangerous, and you are not coming with us. Now you can either stand there and argue with us, or you can let us go. Just remember, the longer we stay here arguing with you, the more time we are losing…time better spent looking for Jack." Oh jeez, how can I do this to her? Jack’s all she has left; of course she wants to go look for him! I’d be the same way, if it was Frank…April, I’m sorry, kiddo, I’m sorry….

April glared mutinously at them, but stopped trying to twist away. "All right." she whispered. "But you have to promise me, you’ll call – whether you know anything or not…you have to keep calling me, and telling me what’s happening. Promise me, Joe – do you promise?"

He nodded reassuringly. "I promise."

Frank was already striding toward the door. "Come on, we’ve lost valuable time already!" he snapped over his shoulder. Joe gave April a reassuring pat on the arm, and followed his older brother, but turned to make a last request.

"April, tell Mom what happened, okay? And where we’ve gone?"

She nodded mutely, and watched them leave the room.

A few seconds later, the boys leaped into the van, Joe behind the wheel. He started the engine, and was just putting it into reverse when Frank stopped him.

"Wait! Here comes April again—"

"Damn it, she can’t come with us!" Joe growled, but hastily put the van in Park and rolled down the window.

"Your dad’s on the phone again!" the girl cried. "Come back in and talk to him!"

Joe and Frank flung themselves out of the vehicle and raced into the house. Frank grabbed up the dangling receiver of the kitchen wall phone. "Dad?"

"Frank, I think I may have a clue here. I found something on the floor of Jack’s office – that mounted baseball card of the Toronto Blue Jays baseball player. I can’t believe I didn’t think about its significance when I called before – blame it on the headache, I guess. There’s no logical reason for that card to be where I found it, unless Jack dropped it there – it’s a slim lead, but I don’t have anything else to go on. Look in the address book in the top left drawer of my desk in the den – I want the telephone number of the Toronto chief of police; it should be crossfiled under both his name – Julian Fantino – and ‘Toronto’. I’ll call him and alert him to the situation; perhaps we can intercept Jack’s plane when it lands."

Frank breathlessly transmitted the instructions to Joe, who raced to the den and returned holding the book. He feverishly ruffled through the pages, pouncing on the entry when he found it. Frank relayed the number to his father, then added: "We’re on our way, Dad; we’ll be there as fast as we can." He slammed the receiver back into place, and headed out the door once more.

April was nowhere in sight when the boys reached the van; apparently she had gone back upstairs while they were on the telephone with Fenton. Once more, Joe took his place behind the wheel, and shoved the vehicle into reverse. He backed down the driveway into the street, and peeled out in a fashion that would have brought sharp reprimands from either or both of his parents. Frank rolled his eyes, but gripped the armrest and held his tongue silent.

A few blocks down the street, Frank snapped his fingers. "I know where they’re going, Joe! They’re heading towards Toronto, all right, but not the main airport! They’ll fly into Toronto Island Airport; that’s why Jack left that card! He knew I’d remember him telling me about it." He briefly related the story Jack had told him. "Trust Jack to find a way to leave us a clue!" he said admiringly.

"You’re probably right," Joe grunted. He spun the steering wheel as they approached an intersection. At the rate of speed they were traveling, the van couldn’t keep all four tires on the pavement, and for a few seconds, they were only riding on two wheels.

"Joe!" Frank yelped in protest, and grabbed again for a handhold as the van slammed back onto four wheels. The elder boy glared at his brother in the dim light from the instrument panel. "Driving like a maniac isn’t going to help any if you crash us on the way there—"

Joe took another turn, and the camping equipment they had left in the van skidded across the back deck. A sudden, unexpected cry of protest erupted from the rear: "Owwwww!"

Joe slammed on the brakes, and brought the vehicle to a screeching halt. He steered over to the parking strip, stopped again, and cut the engine, then flipped the dome lights on. "What the heck?"

Frank was already squeezing between the front seats, and dragging their tent and sleeping bags off…someone. "April." he said grimly.

Joe groaned. "Noooooo!"

The girl sat up, holding her ribs with her good arm. "You didn’t have to throw me around like that!" she accused.

"April, why did you do this?" Frank shouted. "You told us you were going to stay home! You were safe there! Now what are we supposed to do – leave you beside the road? We don’t have time to go back!"

"I have to go," she said stubbornly. "Drive, Joe; you’re wasting time."

"April, you can’t go!" Joe cried. "I know you want to, but—"

She stared at them with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Don’t you understand? My worst nightmare is coming true…I’m going to lose Jack, just like I lost Dad – and Mom, so long ago." She gulped. "I can’t stay at home and wait for you to come back and tell me I’m all alone in the world. If something bad happens to Jack, I want to be there, to apologize to him for not trusting him enough, for making his life harder this last year. I have to be with him….I’ve got to go!"

The boys exchanged glances. They had no arguments to make that would even come close to changing April’s mind, or swaying her determination.

"Okay…" Joe turned the motor on and waited while Frank resumed his seat. "You can come – as far as the airfield, anyway. Get in that middle seat and buckle up, for Pete’s sake." He switched off the inside light and shoved the van into gear once again. "It’ll be okay, April. We’ll get there in time to make sure nothing bad happens to Jack."

His bright, reassuring words eased some of the abject terror from April’s hazel eyes as she took her seat and obediently fastened her seat belt. It was fortunate that April wasn’t clairvoyant, for Joe’s thoughts didn’t follow the same optimistic path as his spoken words. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was just as scared as she was. There was no way they would reach Toronto in time to save Jack if Deke and Ernie were set on killing him.

What if all we find when we get there is Jack’s lifeless body? Joe tried to shake off that grim image. He couldn’t let April see his fear. Please, Lord, he prayed silently. Let us get there in time…