Frank pulled his turbulent thoughts together and focused on the chief. "Joe…" he whispered.

"Fogle’s plan only works if you are out of the way, Frank." Winslow reminded him.

"That’s just it - I am out of the way. I’m here." Frank said despairingly. "Joe went to Brookshire’s place this morning."

Frank and Perry left the police station a few minutes later, and headed for Bradley Brookshire’s place as quickly as they could make their way through the morning crush of vehicle traffic. As they drove, Frank filled Perry in on what he had learned during Crigger’s interrogation.

"I don’t get it." Perry complained. "Why go to the bother of making a fake painting and filling the frame with plastique, if he’s not going to kill Joe that way?"

"It’s got to be a diversion." Frank decided. "He decided it was too big a risk that someone would find it - that’s why there’s no detonator attached. Besides, this way he could frame Leroy Crigger for it." He thought a moment. "He probably intended to kill Crigger, ‘while trying to escape’. A search of Crigger’s place would turn up the evidence Fogle planted, and everyone would think Fogle was a hero, for getting the guy who killed Joe. Devious, isn’t he?"

Joe and Rich Sutton, meanwhile, were spending some time looking around the neighborhood where Bradley Brookshire lived, attempting to find some way into his house without alerting the Internal Affairs agents who were keeping the place under surveillance.

"There doesn’t seem to be any way in where we won’t be seen." Joe decided finally, after he and Rich had circled the block, searching for a way to get inside, and keeping alert for the agents.

"What should we do, then?" Rich asked.

Joe considered the choices. "Maybe we should just go over to the Parthenon." he suggested at last. "Maybe we can find something out, there."

"We won’t be allowed in without our tickets." Rich reminded him. "Mr. Freemont has all the tickets for the class."

Joe grinned smugly. "I have a security clearance," he assured his friend. "And I’m sure I can vouch for you and get you in. The Parthenon’s not all that far from here; let’s walk over there."

Accordingly, they set out along the sidewalk. But they hadn’t gone far before Rich found a distraction.

"Hey, check it out!" He halted and stooped down between some thick bushes growing near the street. "A remote-controlled car!" he shouted, dropping to a crouch and reaching for his find.

Joe, a few yards ahead, paused, and started to turn towards Rich, but before he could, a car glided up beside him and stopped.

"Joe Hardy? What are you doing here?"

Joe stood stock-still. It was Sergeant Fogle. He thought quickly, and came up with what he hoped was a plausible excuse.

"I thought I’d check out Brookshire’s place. Someone attacked Frank last night." Well that part’s true, at least! Joe thought. "He’s in the hospital, unconscious."

"In that case, you shouldn’t be here alone." Fogle reproved. "Whoever did it might come after you, next. Get in." he ordered, motioning Joe towards the car.

"Thanks, but I think I’ll keep looking around for a bit." Joe replied. He was hoping against hope that Fogle hadn’t noticed Rich’s stooped figure, which was nearly hidden by the shrubbery.

"Get in, Joe." This time Fogle sounded much more stern.

"No, thanks just the same, Sergeant." the younger Hardy refused, politely but firmly.

With a muttered oath, Fogle reached down - and the next thing Joe knew, he was staring at the muzzle of a gun pointing at him through the passenger window.

"Get in the car, Joe - now." All traces of friendliness were gone from Fogle’s voice.

Joe gulped, and slowly obeyed. The car moved away, down the street.

Rich Sutton popped up from his hiding place in the bushes, red-faced from holding his breath. He scurried towards Brookshire’s place as fast as he could go. When he reached it, he found stern-faced agents preparing to enter the house, and he rushed up to them with frantic haste.

"Excuse me! But you’re from the police department, right? I was with Joe Hardy - and Sergeant Fogle just took him away at gunpoint!" Rich blurted out, all in a rush.

The Internal Affairs agents immediately began questioning Rich, but before he could tell his story, Frank and Perry arrived in the Hardys’ van. The two boys leaped out and joined the group.

Frank seized Rich’s arm in steely fingers. "Where’s Joe?" he demanded feverishly.

"I was just telling the officers - Fogle snatched him!" Rich cried. "He didn’t see me because I was behind some bushes….Joe told Fogle you had been attacked last night and that you were in the hospital, Frank!"

Frank felt his heart pounding with fear. Where could Fogle be taking Joe? "Fogle’s place needs to be searched!" he said. "Maybe he’s taken Joe there."

"Hang on," one of the agents said. He activated his two-way radio, and in a few moments had a report. "We’ve had people watching Fogle’s place. They say he left earlier this morning, and hasn’t returned."

"Where could he have taken Joe?" Frank fretted, paying no attention to the conversation buzzing about him. The Parthenon? Fogle’s supposed to be there. Maybe he plans on killing Joe there. If no one realizes Joe was killed there, then it gives Fogle an alibi, being there. Aloud, he said "Let’s try the Parthenon."

The drive took only a few minutes. When they pulled into the parking lot, Frank looked around frantically for Fogle’s car, but didn’t see it. On a hunch, he went around the building to the back lot used by the employees. There was Fogle’s car. Frank sucked in a ragged breath. Joe had to be here!

As he, Rich and Perry hurried towards the main entrance, they were intercepted by two familiar people: Sergeant Len Henderson, and Agent Kevin Barnes, both looking decidedly grim. Evidently they had heard the latest developments already.

Frank didn’t even crack a smile. "What about inside?" he demanded.

"Everyone’s on the lookout for him." Kevin Barnes said reassuringly. "He just hasn’t been spotted yet."

At that moment, there was a scuffling commotion at the wide front doors, and suddenly there was Mike Fogle, being firmly held by two officers. Frank rushed up to him, closely followed by Henderson, Barnes, Perry Nichols and Rich Sutton.

"Where’s Joe?" Frank shouted.

"Spread out," Henderson ordered. "Start searching this whole place for him!" As the agents and officers moved to obey, Frank, Perry and Rich started after them, but Henderson called them back. "You three stick together." he amended his order. "I know you want to help search for Joe, but at least you can look out for each other."

Once inside the museum, Frank headed for the stairs, followed by the two other boys. Fogle knows the third floor best, he reasoned. He must have found a place where he could film Joe’s death up there!

On their way up, however, the three were halted by a security guard. "Hold it! You boys can’t go up there!" he barked.

Frank, nearly beside himself with worry, fished in his pocket and produced the security clearance badge given to him by Ted Ratkin. "We’re looking for my brother!" he explained hastily. After a check which only took a few moments but felt to Frank like half an hour, the security guard waved them on, allowing them to go on up to the third floor.

"We’ll check each door, one at a time." Frank instructed Rich and Perry. "Except for that one there," he pointed at the guarded door to the room where the cash giveaway was to take place. "I’m pretty sure Fogle didn’t make it in there!"

They searched, trying one door after another. Some of the police officers were searching this floor too. Each time, they came up blank. Frank was beginning to despair - where was Joe? Had Fogle’s fiendish plan already been carried out?

Near the end of the corridor, they came to a door marked Janitor’s Supplies. Frank twisted the doorknob cautiously, and opened the door. Peering inside, he saw mops, buckets, a push-broom…and nothing else. He started to close the door - and then glimpsed what looked like a knob, on the wall in the back of the closet. Pushing aside the cleaning apparatus, Frank reached out and grasped the knob, and attempted to turn it. It was locked.

Mentally thanking his father once more, Frank pulled his set of lock picks from his pocket and set to work. A minute or two later, he felt the lock give. He turned the knob and pulled the door open….