Double Exposure by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

try that in the morning. For now, I'd like to go back to where you got these IDs — "
    "Hold it." Considine walked back into the room, madder than he'd been before. Joe braced himself for another round of questions.
    "Let 'em go," Considine said flatly.
    Joe swiveled around to stare first at Frank, then at Considine.
    "Let us go?" Joe asked.
    "Let them go?" Mitchell repeated.
    "You heard me!" Considine roared. "Let them go! FBI says the guys they're talking about — Gregor and Liehm—really are Czech agents. We've got orders to arrest them on sight. And those two guys we picked up unconscious at that Video Imaging place — they're STB, too."
    He turned to Frank and Joe. "You must have some heavy friends in Washington, because they told us to let you walk — no questions asked."
    Frank tried to hide a smile. "Friends in Washington" meant one thing to him the Gray Man and the Network. Despite the trouble they often had working with America's most secret intelligence network, sometimes the connection proved useful.
    "We'd be glad to stay and help you look for Liehm and Gregor, Lieutenant," Frank said. "We've seen them close up — "
    "Their pictures will be coming over the wire. I think we can manage without your help." Considine motioned behind them through the open door, and a uniformed officer brought in two suitcases. "I took the liberty of having your bags packed and brought here." Considine looked at his watch. "The first plane leaves Logan at seven this morning. Catch it. And I don't want to see you guys playing detective in my town again, is that clear?"
    Frank and Joe stood but said nothing.
    Considine pulled the IDs the Beast had given them out of their wallets. "I'll keep these, if you don't mind — even if you're not involved in the phony ID ring, like Washington says. I'd like them as little souvenirs."
    His grin vanished. ' Make sure these boys get on that plane," he told Mitchell. "And then come see me — we have to beef up security for Janosik." He stalked out of the room.
    As Frank and Joe reached the airport, a newspaper truck was just pulling up. Frank watched bale after bale of newspapers hit the sidewalk. "Hold on a minute," he said. Setting his suitcase down, he walked over and studied the headlines. "Janosik Took Money from CIA," they screamed. Janosik's picture ran next to the article, a shot the paper must have had on file. He was speaking in front of a crowd somewhere, and the photographer had caught him in midsentence, his mouth open, his hand waving as he strove to make some point. He looked exactly as he had the day before in the park, when he'd been speaking of freedom and great men.
    "It says he's speaking anyway." Mitchell read the article over Frank's shoulder. "You have to admire his guts."
    Frank took a deep breath. "I do," he said. He turned away and picked up his suitcase again. "Come on—let's board."
    "I don't like running away from a case like this, Frank," Joe grumbled.
    "We're not running, Joe," Frank said. "The police know about Gregor and Liehm now, and you heard Considine say they're beefing up security for Janosik's speech. We've done everything we can. We do anything else, and Considine'll lock us up and throw away the key — never mind what our friend in Washington says."
    Joe still wasn't convinced. "What about Chris?" he asked quietly.
    Frank shook his head. "What about him? He's disappeared again — along with whatever proof he promised us of Janosik's innocence. If he wants to contact us, he knows where we are."
    He was tired, he was disillusioned, and he was hungry—and all he wanted to do right then was sleep. "Wake me when we get to New York," he said, leaning back in his seat.
    The Hardys took a cab to their house from the airport—and found a surprise waiting for them at home.
    "Mom! Dad! You're home early!" Frank said as he walked into the living room.
    "And so are you, from what Callie told us," Fenton Hardy said. "Fill me in on this Alexander Janosik case. I