HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

The drive to Dulles International Airport was uneventful. No one stopped them, no one in black suits with aviator sunglasses pulling them over. Ethan shook his head as he steered to the long-term parking area. "You seen that movie too many times."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing except I seriously doubt little green men help with the apprehension of criminals."

Joe got out of the truck, then grabbed his duffle bag. "Let's go."

"I guess he was serious," said Ethan, joining him, matching him stride for stride into the terminal, his own duffle bag hanging from his shoulder.

"Don't jinx it."

"Joe, Jack's not some s.o.b. who gets off tormenting people. At least not often. That's Freddy Krueger's job. He said we could go." Ethan thought for a minute as his stride slowed down. Then he stopped. "That son of a bitch," he muttered, shaking his head.

Thinking his partner saw some fellow agents ready to deter them, Joe scanned the busy terminal. When he didn't see anyone familiar, he looked at Ethan. "What?"

"He's scary. He really is." Ethan started walking again, shaking his head.

Joe grabbed him by the arm to stop him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Did you notice anything odd in Jack's office?" asked Ethan, casually. "Did you notice he didn't ask you why you couldn't go to Bulgaria. Did you notice he didn't argue with us when you insisted on going? Did you notice he already knew about the kidnapping?"

Joe heaved a disgruntled sigh. "Yes, yes, and yes. So?"

Ethan glanced at him. "You don't get it?"

"Ethan..."

"Jack knew. Jack knew you'd insist on going. He knew you'd refuse to go to Bulgaria until this was taken care of. He knew she'd been kidnapped."

Joe's blue eyes widened and he clenched his free hand into a fist. "That son of a--" Joe broke off before he said it as a woman walked by with children. He gave the woman a curt nod, then whirled on Ethan. "I'll kill him," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm sure many have threatened, few have followed through."

Joe snorted and led the way to the desk. As if to confirm Ethan's suspicions there were tickets already waiting for them, under their cover names. Joe shook his head, felt like punching something--or a certain someone, but refrained himself as best as he could. They waited impatiently until their flight was called, then lined up to get on the plane.

"At least you don't have to worry about court dates while you're busy later. Jack got you off easy."

"I would have been anyway. Tank said damage was minimal, he kicked us outside."

"He always reminds me of that big burly guy on Road House."

Joe thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, he kind of runs the place like that."

After another twenty minutes of waiting, they got onto the plane and settled into seats in coach. Ethan tried to get comfortable. "Damn it, he does this on purpose. Gets the cheap tickets. Who cares if my spine is like an accordian when I get off."

"Certainly not me."

"So will we gain time or lose time on this flight?"

"How should I know?"

"Just making conversation, partner. You're as tight as a--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Ethan," muttered Joe as a stewardess came their way.

Ethan just shook his head. Some things never change, he thought, watching as Joe chatted up the blond stewardess. His partner had a knack for attracting the ladies and normally, Ethan wouldn't have bothered paying any attention to it but he noticed all the while Joe flirted with the stewardess, his left hand was clenched into a fist so tight the knuckles were white.

He's distracting himself, realized Ethan as their plane taxied down the runway and took to the air. "Joe?" he asked, after the stewardess had left.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Ethan shifted to look straight at him. "Really okay?"

Joe took a deep breath "No." He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. "Ethan, I love her."

Ethan felt a chill chase down his spine. "What happened in Morocco, Joe? Casi went down there, didn't she."

"Yes."

"And?"

"I nearly lost her."

Ethan felt the chill seep into his heart. Cathy had hinted at something but he hadn't gotten the whole story from her yet, only that everyone--especially Donovan--was tiptoeing around Casi lately. "Joe....you didn't..."

Joe's eyes flew open. "I walked out on her. She's safer the farther away I am. As long as she's close, she risks her life, her---"

"Damn it, Joe," said Ethan, interrupting him. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Leave it alone, Ethan."

"No." Ethan resisted the temptation to hit his partner squarely on the jaw. "You are an idiot."

Joe heaved a sigh and closed his eyes again. "Don't start, Ethan, please, just leave it alone."

Ethan stared at him and shook his head, then tried to relax in his seat. It took a little over four hours to get to Paris and who knew when they'd rest once they got there. He glanced at his partner again and shook his head. His partner was a certifiable idiot. Throwing it all away on a maybe. Suddenly he flashed back to something his wife had told him before their own wedding and he sighed, some of the anger at Joe fading. He'd been an idiot a time or two as well. Maybe he could convince Joe to change his mind.

Ethan grunted. Yeah, he thought closing his own eyes. When hell froze over and the pigs flew with angels' wings.

***

20 May 2003

Paris, France

3:10 pm

William MacFairliagne glanced up as a knock sounded on his office door. "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal a tall slim woman wearing wire-framed glasses, a severe skirt suit in charcoal, her dark hair in a tight bun. She held a notebook with a pen clipped to it and a small tape recorder swung from it's strap on her wrist. "Monsieur MacFairlaigne?"

"Oui. How may I help you?"

"I am with press office, monsieur." She flashed her press pass and gave him a tight smile. "May I ask a few questions?"

"I've already talked to the press and may have cost my daughter dearly. Bonsour, mademoiselle."

"Monsieur, I am merely doing a followup interview. It would cost me my job if I return with nothing."

Liam scowled and absently gestured her to close the door and sit down. "I can't imagine what else you need to follow up on."

"I am curious that you included no picture of your daughter. Would it not be wise to do so?"

Liam sighed. "The police inspector said anyone could pose as the picture and gain access to my company or my family."

"I see," she said thoughtfully. "May I ask how old your daughter is?"

Liam frowned. "If you're doing a followup---I didn't catch your name, mademoiselle."

"Oh, forgive me. Gabriella Radley."

Liam arched an eyebrow. "That's hardly a French name, Mademoiselle Radley."

She cocked her head to one side. "You are suspicious of me, monsieur?"

"Why shouldn't I be? You could be with the local office of those American tabloids for all I know." He nodded toward the door. "It might be a good idea for you to go."

Gabriella Hadley frowned, her dark brown eyes narrowing behind the glasses. She stood up and scanned the room. "I could understand your concern, monsieur." She stopped when she saw a crucifix hanging on the far wall. "I will pray to Saint Michael...for the police to find your daughter."

Liam stared at her, surprised. "You are familiar with the patron saints?"

"Aren't most Catholics, monsieur," she said, sounding somewhat haughty.

Just then the door swung open and a slim woman with auburn hair strode into the room, clad in faded jeans and a sage green blouse. Gabriella Radley dropped her pen as she glanced at the woman. Then she picked up the pen and left the room, without even saying goodbye.

Liam frowned, then glanced at the newcomer. "What's wrong, Ally?"

"Sandra said there was a reporter in here."

"She just left."

Alannah took a deep breath and glanced at the still open door, then turned to Liam. "Inspector Dupre'--"

"I didn't tell her anything. I was sending her out because she didn't tell me what paper she was with or anything else.....except her name." Liam shook his head. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Alannah walked slowly and closed the door. "I'm sorry. I was afraid you'd gone ahead and talked to the press again."

Liam sighed and got up from his desk. "Ally, I won't. As much as I need to do something, I won't do that." He walked over to her and pulled her close, then glanced at the crucifix. "I want to move heaven and earth to find Casi. But I won't endanger her life. I promise."

Ally rested her head on his chest and nodded. Then the tears came and he just held her close.

***

The backpack was where she'd stuffed it, under the sink in the ladies restroom on the fifteenth floor. She shed the suit, glasses and the accessories, then changed back into her jeans and cropped top. Alethea pulled out the bobby pins and let her hair fall down around her shoulders. She stuffed everything into the backpack and left the restroom.

It wasn't uncommon for her to visit Hathaway Shipping on occasion if she was doing Quinn a favor or something. That way if anyone asked where the straitlaced uptight reporter went to, no one would know. Alethea shouldered the backpack and headed for the elevator.

She had hoped for some blatant portrait of the family or a photo on the man's desk but his desk had been neat and empty of everything but a telephone and a pencil holder. And there had been no family portrait to be seen. The crucifix wasn't that much of a clue, she thought, stepping into the elevator and pushing the lobby button.

Alethea grunted. God, she sounded like Trixie Belden or something. She frowned, thinking of the woman who'd burst in on them. Her auburn hair was darker and shorter but the fair skin, the faint sprinkling of freckles. The woman had looked older but she had favored Ariel. She fiddled with one of her earrings as the elevator slid down to ground level and the doors opened.

She strode across the lobby and left the building to find a familiar Aston-Martin parked outside, just behind her motorcycle. Nicholas Quinn was there, leaning casually against the front fender, his arms folded across his chest. "Hello, Alethea."

She nodded. "Hello, Quinn."

"No sirens. Does that mean you were discreet?"

Alethea snorted. "I'm always discreet."

"Ha. What's in there?" he asked, nodding to the backpack.

"I didn't snitch a single thing. Scout's honor."

Quinn sighed. "Al..."

"It's clothes."

Quinn narrowed his eyes, studied her for a long moment, then he shifted his eyes to the backpack and finally up the side of the building, as if he knew exactly which bank of windows belonged to MacFairlaigne's private office. "What did you do?"

"Posed as a reporter. He didn't tell me anything."

"Did you expect him to?"

Alethea shook her head. "But he didn't have to. His wife has auburn hair, Quinn. It may be Ariel's mother. I saw a crucifix. Quinn, I think she is their daughter."

Quinn didn't budge from his spot. "You have proof? A photograph? Confirmation from them?" He gestured to the building. "Did you take time to see them as people? Did you think that if she isn't their daughter but we get their hopes up, then we do the greater disservice."

"Quinn--"

"I don't want to do anything until we know for certain."

Alethea sighed. "Fine. But you can bet your ass I'm going to say I told you so until doomsday when I'm right."

Quinn nodded. "Yes, I know you will. Stay out of trouble, Al."

"Don't I always?" she retorted with a toss of her head. She strapped the backpack on, then straddled her motorcycle, clamping the helmet on one-handed. "Same to you, pal." she yelled and roared off, after starting the engine.

Quinn glanced up at the sixteenth floor, then sighed and got into the Aston-Martin. God, he hoped he wasn't making a bigger mistake, not telling the MacFairlaignes. He shifted gears and drove off, determined to follow through with his decision--for now anyway.

***

20 May 2003

Paris, France

4:21 pm

Michael Radcliffe looked up when the bell rang as the door opened. Quinn walked through the door and over to the desk. He slumped down in the chair facing Michael's desk, then lifted a hand in a wave. Michael arched an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Fine." Quinn looked around at the students gathered around, discussing books and philosophy and who knew what else. "Where's Ariel?"

"She's upstairs, resting."

Quinn shifted in the chair and his foot hit something. He bent down to pick up a glitter gel pen. He set it carefully by several others and a notebook. "What happened?"

"Before I tell you, look in the notebook."

"Isn't it Ariel's?"

"She won't know. Look."

Quinn frowned and lifted the cover. On the first page were doodles--hearts, shamrocks, diamonds--and names. His, Michael's, Alethea's and Ariel's. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Look at the capital A's, Quinn."

Quinn arched an eyebrow at his friend, then looked at the letters Michael had mentioned. "She writes her A different."

"You should watch her when you get a chance. She makes it like a C, then adds a line. But with Alethea's name, she wrote the letter right."

Quinn closed the notebook, sat back in his chair. "When I went to see Alexander yesterday, he told me about a kidnapping. He told me the daughter of William MacFairlaigne was kidnapped eight days ago." Quinn heaved a sigh. "There was no description in the newspaper. Alethea went there this afternoon, posing as a reporter to find out more. She thinks Ariel is the kidnapped daughter."

Michael glanced at the stairs that led to the second floor, then back to Quinn. "She's Catholic and she told me she loves cats, always has."

"Al told me about the notebook and pens purchase. Al wants me to go to the man, tell him we found his daughter."

"You don't agree?"

"What if we're wrong, Michael. Hell, a lot of women have red hair and brown eyes. She doesn't have a French accent, she doesn't have that spoiled rich kid attitude. What if we're wrong and we get their hopes up, then dash them to the ground."

Michael sighed and sat back in his chair. "Are you trying to convince me--or yourself?"

"No armchair psychoanalysis, damn it."

"Touchy, touchy," muttered Michael. He sighed. "Look, you have a point--if we're wrong we get the parents all excited only to have to disappoint them. It's a fifty-fifty chance either way. I'm not much of a gambling man and neither are you."

Quinn glanced over at him, started to say something but Ariel coming down the stairs made him pause. "Ariel."

She sighed and as she came closer, he saw she'd been crying. He shot Michael a questioning glance but Michael just shook his head. Quinn stood up and took her hand. "Ariel, are you okay?"

Instead of answering, she just burst into tears. Startled, Quinn pulled her close and let her cry. Michael frowned and stood up. He walked over to them and touched Ariel's shoulder. "Ariel, honey, we'll get this all straightened out. I told you that."

She sniffed and raised her head. "I know," she said hoarsely. She let out a shaky sigh, then glanced at Quinn. "Sorry. I've gotten your shirt wet."

"Don't apologize, Ariel. We'll take care of everything."

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Quinn shared a worried look with Michael, then hugged her. "Why don't we go on back to the yacht, Ariel. I'll order some pizza and we'll watch a movie."

She blinked and raised her head again. "Pizza in Paris," she asked, sounding surprised.

Quinn grinned. "Yep. Come on." He steered her toward the door. "Michael, when you see Alethea, tell her you two are invited."

"What makes you think I'll see her?" asked Michael, sounding peeved. He paused a moment, then sighed and motioned for them to go. "Forget I asked. Go on with you."

Quinn grinned down at Ariel, glad to see her smile back, though her eyes were filled with tears. "Let's go."

***

20 May 2003

Paris, France

6:42 pm

It was getting dark as they left the terminal at Charles de Gualle airport. Joe paused on the sidewalk and scanned the area. As the sun sank in the west, a cool breeze swept past him. He hadn't been to Paris in years but found it looked just the same--same crowds, same old-world feel. Ethan stepped past him, pointing to a rental car agency across from the terminal's entrance. "Let's go get us a car and we'll head for the hotel."

"A cab's cheaper."

"Definitely not in the long run." Ethan led the way to the Hertz Rental Agency.

"Sez who?" asked Joe, following.

"Sez me." Ethan went into the office, then stopped Joe from coming in. "Stay here. Considering your record with rental cars, I doubt they would let you have one."

"Oh really? That was an unavoidable accident."

"Yeah, right."

Joe snorted and resigned himself to standing out on the sidewalk. A few minutes later, Ethan came out,playing catch with a set of keys. Joe snatched them out of Ethan's hand. "Let's go. Which car?"

"Number ninety-one. What are you planning?"

"Find out what the local police know."

"Like the French police are going to talk to some Yank about an ongoing case. Give me the keys."

Joe grunted and searched for their rental in the parking lot. "You're starting to sound like Jack."

"And you're starting to annoy me."

"Here it--" Joe's voice trailed off. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The tall muscular black man just leaned on the front fender of the gray sedan Ethan had rented. "Wilder told me you were coming, Mack." Carlton Simmons pushed off from the fender. "I'm warning you, you mess this little sidetrip up and I'll see you under the French jail."

"Lay off, Simmons," snapped Ethan.

"Goes for you too, buddy."

Joe glared at Simmons. "Get out of my way."

"We've got some sensitive assignments going on, MacKensey. This kidnap thing is small fry and in my book, your broad is expendable if it comes down to the wire."

It happened so fast Ethan didn't have a chance to stop him. One second, Joe was holding his duffle bag in his right hand, the next second, his right fist smacked into Simmons' jaw. The black man flopped back onto the hood of the car.

"Joe--" began Ethan.

Simmons got up slowly, rubbed his jaw. "One more nail in your coffin, MacKensey. One day I'll bury you, for good." He stalked off.

"Joe.." said Ethan.

"I'm cool."

His partner looked anything but cool. Joe bent down to snag the bag he'd dropped, then tossed the keys to Ethan. "Drive. The last thing I need to do here is get arrested for speeding and that's exactly what I feel like doing right now."

Ethan nodded. "He'll get his, Joe. Sooner or later, Jack'll realize Simmons is one hell of a liability."

"Let's hope that happens before I follow gut instinct and kill that son of a bitch."

"Let's go," said Ethan, quietly.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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.