Waiting until the truck was only a few yards in front of them, Joe eased off the gas and turned the wheel hard to the left. The truck whizzed by with only inches to spare.

Frank took a deep breath and looked over at Joe. "Good move," he said.

"Thanks," Joe answered.

"I'm grateful you didn't tell me what you were going to do." Without giving Joe a chance to respond he continued, "Did you catch the name on the side of that rig?'

"I was kind of busy," Joe sarcastically replied. "But I can guess," he added.

"Dawson's," Frank agreed, then immediately changed the subject. "What don't you understand?" he asked Joe, referring to his earlier remark.

"The fires," Joe answered. "More specifically," he continued, "why burn three warehouses when one would have been enough to maintain the accident theory?"

"And three makes it look like it didn't just happen," Frank agreed, picking up on Joe's train of thought. "There's something bothering me too," he added. "What were they after at Kurtz' house? They couldn't have known about the letter."

"Want to go back?" Joe asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"Tomorrow," Frank decided. "Riley said he would send a car around every hour, so I doubt anyone will try anything more tonight. And that should give us time," he added mysteriously.

"Time for what?" Joe asked, giving Frank a look that clearly implied he knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Time to check out Dawson's office. Let's go," Frank told him with a satisfied grin.

"Tell me again why we're digging a hole?" Joe begged Frank as he nervously looked around.

Still shoveling dirt, Frank explained. "The security system has a lock on the fence so if we tried to cut it or climb it, an alarm would go off. The surveillance cameras are aimed at the top of the fence, so we can't pole vault over it. There's nothing underground, so we're tunneling under."

"There are still cameras and alarms inside," Joe informed him.

"See this?" Frank asked, stopping his digging and pulling out a small black box with a couple of buttons on it from his pocket. "Phil brought it over last week. He thought it might come in handy sometime."

"I don't remember it," said Joe. "What does it do?"

"You were in bed when he brought it over," Frank told him. "It's a remote controlled time delay device. It freezes anything electronic it's aimed at for sixty seconds. We'll have time to move from one location to another without being seen. This should allow us to reach Dawson's office so we can give it a through check," he added.

"And the guards?" Joe demanded, although his eyes gazed approvingly at the device in Frank's hand.

"We'll have to be on our toes," Frank answered him, putting the box back into his pocket.

"All right," Frank said, removing the box from his pocket once again as he and Joe came towards the building housing the offices a half an hour later. "Let's see if this gizmo works."

"Not now," Joe hissed, pointing at the camera over the entrance. The surveillance camera had been turned off!

Holding a finger to his lips, Joe slipped on the gloves Frank had insisted he bring along, and eased the door open. Entering, they heard voices from down the hall. Staying close together, they followed the voices until they heard a door click.

"That's Dawson's office," Frank whispered. "Kurtz' letter said he overheard a conversation through an airshaft in the closet," he continued. "Let's go upstairs and listen in."

They went upstairs, pausing only long enough to check that the surveillance system had not been reactivated. After entering the office, they went to the closet and opened the door. Hearing nothing, Frank stepped inside and shined his flashlight around the interior. Joe went to the window and looked down. A light shone through the first floor window beneath him so Joe knew they hadn't left.

"Why aren't they talking?" Joe asked in confusion.

"Maybe they are," Frank replied, stepping out of the closet. Joe looked at him as he continued, "There's no airshaft in the closet."

Joe went into the closet and looked. "I don't get it," Joe said, shaking his head as he came out and closed the door. "Why would he lie?"

"Are you sure you only saw the head and suit of the boss?" Frank asked instead of answering Joe's question.

"Positive," Joe affirmed. "Why?"

"Just an idea," Frank replied, then turned back to Kurtz' desk. "Since Dawson's office is occupied, let's go over this one again," he suggested. "We didn't do a thorough job the last time."

Knowing Frank wouldn't talk about his idea until he was ready, Joe sighed and pulled out his lock pick kit. Unlocking the file cabinet he began looking for anything which might shed some light on the case. Meanwhile, Frank tackled the desk.

An hour later, Joe groaned in disgust. "There's nothing here. If he left a clue to what's going on, I can't find it."

"Mmm-hmm," murmured Frank, not really paying attention to Joe. He was looking at a slip of paper he had found wedged behind one of the drawers.

"What's that?" Joe asked, walking over to stand behind frank, his blue eyes reflecting a spark of interest.

"It's a list of chemicals stored in a warehouse on Doreson Road," Frank told him.

"There isn't a warehouse there," Joe denied. "Just a deserted farm. Iola and I had a picnic out there a couple of months back," he added, leaning down to take a look at the paper. He whistled softly, "That's some nasty stuff."

"Mmm," Frank agreed. "And if they're being stored in a warehouse that doesn't exist..." he broke off as Joe interrupted him.

"Then maybe they don't exist," Joe finished.

"I doubt that," disagreed Frank. "Why would there be a list of non-existent chemicals? No, a barn has probably been turned into a storage facility. But why? And why wasn't it on the list Sam gave us?"

"Shh!" warned Joe, turning off the light. They made a dash for the closet and just had closed the door when two men entered the room.

"Let's put it in one of those cans of paint," said a nasal voice.

"It'll hurt the timer," argued another voice. Opening the door a crack and peering through, Frank spotted the driver of the brown sedan.

"Naw," denied Jack, coming into view. "It's sealed."

"Let's just finish then get out of here."

"Why plant it here?" Jack asked, opening a can of paint.

"Because the target is dead center."

"Here?" Jack demanded in disbelief.

"Actually, that would be the closet," Conner amended.