Pretenders

Chapter 1

"Class dismissed.  Have a nice weekend, everyone.  I'll see you on Monday."

With those words, Nicholas Black brought his Friday afternoon drama class to an end.  He removed his reading glasses and reached up to rub his tired eyes with one hand.  Then he looked up again, fully expecting the young senior to be standing on the other side of the desk, armed with a question, as he had been every afternoon since the beginning of the term.

But then he remembered: Mark hadn't been there today.

The drama teacher always made an effort to get to know each of his students individually.  He knew that made him a more effective teacher.  And with his class sizes being purposely small, it wasn't that difficult.  Still, some students were easier to get close to than others.

Mark was one of those students.

From day one, the seventeen-year-old had been his most attentive and curious student, lingering after class each day to ask questions about the lesson - thoughtful, insightful questions.  Nicholas had gathered enough about him during those conversations to sense that the young man didn't have anyone he was especially close to.  For that reason, no one seemed to notice that he was missing from class today.

But Nicholas noticed.  Mark had never missed a single class, until now.

Even as Nicholas walked to the Dean's office, he tried to rationalize the nagging anxiety that had begun to build in his gut.  Everybody skips class occasionally, he thought, and Mark was probably no different.  He was a senior, after all.  But Nicholas' rational mind knew that didn't make any sense.  His drama class was Mark's favorite by far - the young man had made that abundantly clear.  He wouldn't have missed it unless something was wrong.

He was probably just feeling poorly today, Nicholas thought, as he rapped lightly at the door, which was soon opened by a stocky, balding man.

"Mister Black," he greeted.  "How may I help you?"

Nicholas glanced over the Dean's shoulder.  The door was open just wide enough for him to observe that the Dean wasn't alone.  A tall, blond-haired man sat in a chair, glaring through the open door at the mild-mannered teacher.

"I'm sorry, Dean Winters," Nicholas muttered, trying not to stare back at the Dean's unknown guest.  "I didn't know you had someone with you.  I'll come back later."

"No, it's all right," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, though he didn't make an effort to invite Nicholas in or introduce him to his companion.  "What is it you needed?"

"I was just wondering if you had any information about a student of mine.  Mark Wilkins.  He wasn't in class today, and he never misses.  I was just worried that something might have happened to him."

"I haven't heard anything," Dean Winters replied, perhaps a little too hastily.  "I admire your concern for your students, Mister Black, but I'm sure he's fine and will probably be back on Monday."

"Very well, then," Nicholas acknowledged.  "Thank you for your help." And with one more indirect glance at the man in the chair, who was still staring at him, the drama teacher made his exit.

*******

Nicholas returned to his office.  Sighing heavily, he pulled out the notebook with all of the information sheets he'd collected from each of his students this term.  Finding Mark's name,  Nicholas made a mental note of the room number where he was staying.

At the very least, I can make sure he isn't sick in bed and unable to call someone, he reasoned, as he left the building and began the short walk to Carruthers Hall.

When he arrived and ascended the stairs to the second floor, the drama teacher was surprised to see Mark's door standing ajar.  Fearing the worst, his heart came up in his throat and his steps quickened as he approached the entrance.

On the other side of the door stood the same tall, blond man that had been in Dean Winters' office a few minutes before.

"What's going on?" Nicholas demanded.  "Is Mark all right?"

The man's eyes narrowed as he looked Nicholas up and down. "You're his teacher, right?" At Nicholas' nod, he continued.  "You certainly have a great deal of interest in Mister Wilkins.  Why is that?"

"You answer my question," Nicholas responded coolly, "and I'll answer yours."

The tall man sighed.  "He isn't here," he advised.  "Nobody's seen him since two nights ago.  We're not sure whether he was kidnapped or chose to disappear on his own." He glared at Nicholas suspiciously.  "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Too shocked and worried to realize he was being indirectly accused, Nicholas shook his head.  "The last time I saw him was in class on Wednesday afternoon," he answered.

"How did he seem to you then?"

Nicholas shrugged.  "He was fine.  Curious as always.  Stayed after class to ask a bunch of questions, which he often did."

"Did you know him well?"

Nicholas shrugged again, starting to say something about the fact that the tall man was referring to Mark in the past tense but thinking better of it.  "Probably as well as anyone, if not better.  I don't think Mark has many close friends here.". It was Nicholas' turn to glare at the blond.  "Why so many questions?"

The stranger sighed slightly and extended his hand.  "I'm Tom Copperfield," he replied.  "I'm a private investigator, and I've been assigned to look into Mark Wilkins' disappearance.  Any information you could provide would be greatly appreciated."

"I'll do anything to try and help you find him," Nicholas assured him as he returned the handshake.

"Good," the investigator smiled slightly.  "Why don't you start by telling me everything you know about Mark Wilkins."

Chapter 2

"Well, as I'm sure you know, Mark is seventeen, a senior, from the Washington, D.C. area," Nicholas began.  "He's enrolled in my drama class, which meets Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at two p.m."

"How many other students are in the class?" Tom asked.

"About fifty."

"So what makes Mark Wilkins stand out from the others?"

Nicholas smiled.  "From the very beginning, Mark was easily my most ambitious student," he responded.  "He sits in the front center of the classroom, soaking up everything he can, and staying after class to ask questions."

"What sort of questions?"

"Everything," Nicholas replied.  "We've talked about history, languages, accents, disguises." He pondered for a moment.  "Come to think of it, he's especially interested in disguises."

"Really?"

"Yes.  Disguises, costuming, makeup.  Anything that could turn someone into a different person.". Tom glared at Nicholas, raising an eyebrow.  "I was an actor for a number of years, so that's kind of my area of expertise."

Tom nodded.  "What about his personal life?"

Nicholas forced a sigh.  "Mark keeps to himself, doesn't talk to anyone else in class, doesn't have a roommate as you probably noticed." He paused.  "He told me his parents died in a plane crash two years ago, and he was sent to live with an uncle he barely knew.  But they didn't get along, and the uncle sent him here." Nicholas' voice was sad.  "He's been here ever since."

"Doesn't he go back home on holidays?"  Tom questioned.

"Not from what I gathered," Nicholas replied.  "I don't think he's even spoken to his uncle since coming here.  The dorms don't close for holidays, so he just stays here.". Nicholas' soft brown eyes locked with the blue ones of his companion.  "Two weeks ago, I invited him to have Thanksgiving dinner with me just so he wouldn't be alone."

Tom was quiet for a moment as he took this in.  "Does he have a girlfriend?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "Not that he's mentioned."

Tom sighed.  "Anything else you can think of that might help us?"

"No," the teacher replied quietly.  "I've told you all I know."  He paused briefly.  "Look, I know what you must be thinking.  A loner, no ties to anyone, fascinated with changing his identity.  But I can't help but think that Mark would have told me if he was planning to disappear of his own accord.  Something's happened to him, and I hope you're able to find him."

Nicholas reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card.  "If you need anything else from me, please feel free to call."

"Thank you," smiled Tom, reaching out to shake Nicholas' hand once again.  "I will."

*******

"How'd it go?" Peter Grayson asked the blond agent as he returned to the gray office building that had become the team's headquarters.

Tom Copperfield's eyes narrowed pensively - a look Pete Grayson knew all too well.

"What do we know about a teacher named Nicholas Black?"  he asked, handing the computer guru the business card he'd been given earlier.

His companion punched a few buttons on his computer.  "Let's see," he said thoughtfully, as Tom leaned over his shoulder to watch the screen.  "Ivy League educated, spent some time acting in small films and off-Broadway plays, went back to college and then started teaching at Cavanaugh."

"No criminal history, I assume?"

"Couple of traffic tickets," Pete replied.  "Other than that, the guy's squeaky clean."  The dark-haired agent looked up at his team leader.  "I take it you talked to him.  Did he give you any useful information?"

Tom told Pete about his conversation with the soft-spoken teacher.

"Well, his assessment of Mark certainly fits with what the Secretary told us earlier," commented Pete.

"Yes," agreed Tom.  "In fact, Mister Black may be the only person Mark actually felt close to.  But even he didn't seem to know the truth about Mark's parents.  Or, if he did, he didn't let on."

"You think he had anything to do with Mark's disappearance?"

Tom Copperfield sighed heavily.  "I didn't get that impression from him at all," he answered.  "He just seemed genuinely concerned."

"And this uncle he mentioned?"

"Brent Randolph," the blond advised.  "At least that was the name listed on Mark's school enrollment form in the Dean's office.  The boy apparently lived with him for a while, but they don't seem especially close.  He might be worth checking out."

Pete Grayson punched a few keys on his keyboard.  "Now this is interesting," he observed.  As Tom peered closer, he explained.  "Brent Randolph is a half-brother of Susan Wilkins.". He looked up at his leader.  "On her mother's side."

"Hmm," answered Tom.  "Then I'd say we definitely need to pay him a visit."

Pete nodded, even as a distinct beep sounded from his companion's jacket pocket.  Tom reached in and pulled out a tiny black device that looked like a remote control.  He pushed a blinking orange button.

"Go ahead, Joni."

"I found the campus security tapes from the past two nights," the third team member advised.  "I'm on my way back with them now."

"Good work.  See you shortly."

Ten minutes later, the two men heard a vehicle arrive outside, and shortly afterward a tall redhead in a dark blue uniform entered the office building.

"Any problems?". Tom asked tensely.

"No," smiled Joni Hartley.  "Cavanaugh was more than willing to cooperate with the security audit, given the attention Mark Wilkins' disappearance has already caused.". The pretty redhead reached into the black-and-white striped handbag she was carrying, extracted two videotapes, and handed them to Pete Grayson.

Tom Copperfield smiled slightly as Pete stuck the first one into the nearby VCR and pushed play.  The three agents watched carefully as Pete fast-forwarded the parts without any action.  Suddenly, he abruptly sat up in his seat and pushed play.

"Guys, look at this," he hissed, and the three of them stared at the screen.

Chapter 3

As they watched, the three agents saw the figure of what looked like a teenaged male walking along the side of the road in front of the school's entrance. 

"Is that him?" asked Joni.

"It certainly looks like him," answered Pete, "but the camera is so far away.  Let me zoom in closer."

Pete paused the tape and zoomed in on the lanky male figure, but still couldn't get a good view of his face.

Tom picked up the enlarged copy of Mark Wilkins' s senior portrait that lay on the desk nearby and scrutinized it, then looked back at the TV screen.  "It's hard to say for sure, since he's not facing the camera," he muttered, "but let's see where he goes."

"He's headed toward town," Joni whispered.

In the next frame, a dark blue and white striped sedan with flashing blue lights pulled up beside the figure.

"Campus police," Pete hissed, as the figure peered into the passenger side window of the cruiser.  After a moment, the figure opened the passenger side door and got inside.  The car sped off toward town and disappeared from view of the camera.

Wordlessly, Pete rewound the tape and zeroed in on the right rear quarter panel of the cruiser.  His eyes narrowed.  "That's strange."

"What's strange?"

"There's no number.". Pete looked up to find his two teammates both looking at him incredulously.  "All of the campus police cars have numbers on the rear quarter panels.  This one has no number."

"A fake?"

"Maybe," Pete replied thoughtfully, as he advanced the videotape once again and attempted to enlarge the driver's face.  Unfortunately, the teenager was partially blocking it and he was unable to get a clear picture.  He cursed aloud.

Without a word to his teammates, Pete picked up the phone and called the campus police.  As he'd suspected, there were no records of a campus police car picking up anyone on Wednesday night, much less Mark Wilkins.  Ruefully, he reported this finding to his companions.

"A dead end," said Joni dejectedly.

"Maybe not," countered Tom hopefully.  "I know someone who might be able to help us figure out if that's really Mark Wilkins."

Pete raised an eyebrow, as Joni looked clueless.  "You don't mean Mister Black," he disagreed, his eyes narrowing.

"Why not?"

"You can't bring him into the mission, Tom.  It's classified."

"Relax, Pete," Tom interrupted calmly.  "Mister Black thinks I'm a private investigator.  There's no reason to tell him otherwise."

"And the rest of us?" Joni wondered aloud.

Tom shrugged.  "P.I.s are allowed to have associates," he stated.

"How come you are so sold on this guy, Tom?" asked Pete.

Tom Copperfield smiled.  "There's just something about him I like," he answered.  "Besides, he's got two qualities that we can use to our advantage."

"And what are those?" Joni sighed, knowing at this point that it was pointless to argue.

"Skill with disguises and makeup, and a personal relationship with our missing student," he responded, as he picked up the phone.  "I'll call him."

*******

Nicholas Black was sitting in his recliner with a glass of scotch, trying in vain not to think about Mark Wilkins, when the ringing of the telephone startled him.  Hopeful it was news about his missing student, he scooped up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mister Black?"

"Yes, who's calling?"

"This is Tom Copperfield.  We met earlier today."

"Ah, yes, Mister Copperfield." Nicholas smiled as he recognized the investigator's name, even as a jolt of anxiety shot through him.  "Any news about Mark?"

"We still haven't located him," Tom replied, "but we've found some more information, and we think you could help us make sense of it, if you're still interested."

"Absolutely," Nicholas responded instantly.  "Where shall I meet you?"

"I could pick you up," Tom suggested.

"Thanks, but if you don't mind, I'd rather bring my own car.". One disappearance is enough, he added to himself.

So he doesn't trust me yet, Tom reasoned.  Given what happened to Mark Wilkins, that's pretty smart.  The investigator certainly couldn't fault him for it.

"I understand," Tom answered.  "We've set up the vacant building near the post office as our headquarters while the investigation is open."

"I know the place," Nicholas confirmed.  "I can be there in half an hour."

"I'll see you then, Mister Black."

*******

A half hour later, Nicholas Black's BMW pulled up in front of the dull grey office building.  As he got out and walked inside, Tom Copperfield met him at the door with a firm handshake.

"Mister Black.  Thank you for coming."

"It's Nicholas, please," the teacher greeted, returning the handshake.

"Very well.  And you can call me Tom.". The blond investigator extended his hand, palm up, toward the man and woman behind him.  "These are my associates, Pete Grayson and Joni Hartley."

Nicholas smiled and shook hands with each one in turn.  Then he turned back to Tom.  "So what can I help you with?"

"We need to know if the person in this video footage is Mark Wilkins," Tom advised, as Nicholas took the empty chair beside Pete and stared at the monitor.  Pete pushed play, then zoomed in on the young man's profile as before.  After a moment, Nicholas nodded.

"Yes, I believe that's him."

"How can you tell?". Joni asked skeptically.

"Notice the unusual shape of the collar of his jacket," Nicholas explained, pointing at the pattern which resembled a butterfly fitting snug against the back of the person's neck.  "I'd recognize it anywhere.  He wears it all the time."

"You're sure."

"I'm positive," Nicholas confirmed, and Pete resumed playing the footage as the dark-haired teacher continued to watch.  At the moment when Mark Wilkins climbed inside the purported police car, Nicholas gasped in surprise and turned to Tom.

"Can you not call the campus police to find out where they took him?" he questioned.

"Pete did that before I called you," Tom responded, watching Nicholas carefully to gauge his reaction.  "Apparently it wasn't really a police car at all."

"It must've fooled Mark," Nicholas mused, as he turned his head back toward the monitor.  "Let me watch it again, to make sure there's nothing I missed."

Pete rewound the footage and played it again slowly, while Nicholas watched carefully. Suddenly, he yelled, "Hold it!", startling everyone in the room.

"Zoom in closer to that car," he ordered, and as Pete complied, the three investigators saw at once what Nicholas had seen.

"That dent near the right rear bumper," observed Joni.  "It's very distinctive."

"It's a snowflake pattern," affirmed Nicholas.  "I know that car."

Chapter 4

"You do?" Pete asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do," answered Nicholas.  "It belongs to the new biology professor.  His name is Jim Goodman."

"New?" Tom questioned, lifting an eyebrow.  "How new?"

"He came to Cavanaugh just a couple of weeks ago.  Mark just got transferred to his class.". Nicholas wrinkled his nose.  "Come to think of it, Mark doesn't care much for him.'

"Did he say why?" Pete wanted to know.

"He just said he was nosy.  Asked a bunch of personal questions." Nicholas chuckled.  "I told him I asked a bunch of personal questions, too.  He said that was different, that these were things he wanted to share with me.  I didn't get the same impression from him regarding the professor."

Pete hastily punched a few buttons on his computer.  "Looks like the good professor's science classes didn't meet today, either."

"Then he's almost certainly connected to Mark's disappearance," said Tom thoughtfully.

"It would seem that way," agreed Joni.

"But why?  And where could Goodman have taken him?" wondered Nicholas.

"My guess is this has something to do with Brent Randolph."

Nicholas looked quizzically at Tom.  "Who's Brent Randolph?"

"Mark's uncle," Tom replied, as if that should have been obvious to the dark-haired teacher.  But Nicholas continued to stare blankly at the blond investigator.  "I thought you said he talked to you about his uncle."

"Yes," Nicholas acknowledged, "but they were estranged.  I never even knew his uncle's name until now."

Nicholas' stare deepened, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.  "Something tells me you three know a lot more about Mark Wilkins than you've told me."

Suddenly, Pete and Joni's eyes were also focused on Tom Copperfield, whose expression could not conceal his guilt.

"Look," Nicholas sighed in exasperation, "I think you called me over here for much more than just an extra set of eyes. I think you recognize the level of assistance I can offer you, but I can't help if you don't level with me."

It was Tom's turn to sigh, as he looked first at the others, then back to Nicholas.  "Very well," he agreed.  "I'll tell you what we know."

*******

"You know that Mark's parents died two years ago," Tom began.

"Yes," Nicholas replied.  "Plane crash."

"I bet he didn't tell you that his mother was a princess."

Nicholas' surprised face confirmed Tom's hunch.  "Truthfully, we're not sure Mark knew that himself.  But his maternal grandfather was once king of a small independent nation near the European border.  Susan Wilkins was worth five million dollars at the time of her death - which may or may not have been an accident."

"Terrorists?"

"Possibly.  And maybe a lot closer to home than we think."

"You don't mean Mark's uncle?" suggested Nicholas.

"Brent Randolph has a pretty sketchy reputation as a liar and a cheat," Pete took up the story.  "He and Susan Wilkins share a mother but not a father, which means he has no ties to the royal family.  But that hasn't stopped him from trying to get his hands on the money, which rightfully belongs to Mark as the Wilkins' only child and sole heir."

"But if that's true, why didn't Randolph just kill Mark when his parents died?" questioned Nicholas.  "Why send him to Cavanaugh?"

"We don't think he knows where the money is," Tom theorized.  "We believe that there is a procedure in place that will notify Mark of his fortune on his eighteenth birthday."

"Which is two days from now, if I'm not mistaken," Nicholas recalled, and Tom nodded in confirmation.

"I believe that Brent Randolph sent Jim Goodman here to abduct Mark Wilkins and hold him until the location of the money is revealed."

"Then he'll kill him," Nicholas finished, "unless we can find him first."

"We have no idea where Jim Goodman may have taken Mark," Tom admitted.  "We know where Brent Randolph is, of course - he's made no attempts at hiding - but it's not like he's going to just admit his involvement in the kidnapping.   We have to figure out a way not only to implicate him in that, but possibly Mark's parents' deaths as well.  But which to do first?"

"Why can't we do both at once?" Nicholas suggested.

Tom raised an eyebrow.  "You have something in mind?"

Then the four began to talk among themselves, and before long, what started as a tentative suggestion had evolved into a detailed strategy.  The three investigators, plus their unlikely new teammate, were about to set the trap into motion.

Chapter 5

Once the team had planned their strategy, they used the next five hours to rest, and early Saturday morning they set off on the three-hour drive to Brent Randolph's residence.

Upon their arrival, Pete Grayson, dressed as a telephone company employee, climbed the pole outside the Randolph mansion and tapped into Brent Randolph's phone line.  Then he and Nicholas waited in Pete's car outside a pay phone within a mile of the mansion, as Joni pulled into Randolph's driveway.

"Do you read me, Pete?" Joni asked tensely.

"Loud and clear, Joni.  The bug in your button is working just fine."

"Be careful, Joni," added Tom Copperfield, listening from a separate car just out of sight.  "Remember, we want him shaken up but not volatile.  I'll be close by if there's trouble."

"Roger that," answered the female agent.  Then she sighed heavily.  "Let's do this," she murmured to herself.  She exited the car, walked up to the front door, and knocked authoritatively.

"Who's there?" came a voice from within.

"Detective Harper with the police department.  I'm looking for Brent Randolph."

After a moment, the front door opened a crack.  "What can I do for you?"

"Are you Mister Randolph?"

"Yes."

"I'm investigating the death of your sister and brother in law and would like to ask you some questions.  May I come in?"

For a few moments, Joni was not sure if Randolph was going to let her in, but finally he opened the door.  The agent thanked him, greeting him with a warm handshake as she sat down on the living room sofa.

"Mike and Susan died in a plane crash two years ago," began Brent Randolph, a thin, wiry man with unruly brown hair and a slight beard.  "Investigators said it was an accident.  I'm afraid I don't understand why you're here, detective."

"We've recently uncovered some new evidence suggesting that their plane could have been sabotaged," Joni responded.

"Sabotaged?" Randolph gasped, as the color drained from his face.  "You mean they were murdered?"

"Possibly."

"But why?"

"Money," Joni said succinctly.  "Susan Wilkins was a very wealthy woman when she died.  Did you know that, Mister Randolph?"

Randolph looked surprised at the sudden inquiry, but quickly regained his composure.  "Well, um, Susan never shared her financial situation with me," he answered smoothly.

"Do you know anyone who would have known that kind of information?" the agent asked pointedly.

"No, detective, I don't," answered Randolph, in a tone which clearly indicated his discomfort with the line of questioning.

"How about anyone who might have had something to gain from their deaths?"

"I told you, I don't know anybody," insisted Randolph.  "I really don't think I can help you any further, detective."

"Could I speak to your nephew?" Joni asked suddenly.

The unexpected question had a dramatic effect on Randolph's demeanor.  "My nephew?" he stammered.

"Yes.  Mark Wilkins.  Mike and Susan's son.  I understand he's about to turn eighteen soon."

"Y-yes, but he's...away at school right now.  Cavanaugh," Randolph replied.

Just then, on cue, Randolph's telephone rang.  He looked vaguely relieved at the distraction.  "If you'll excuse me, detective," he said, standing up, and the agent nodded as Randolph dashed to the phone on the other side of the room.

"Yes?"

"Uncle Brent?  Uncle Brent, it's Mark," Nicholas whispered, channeling the young student's voice nearly flawlessly.  "I-I need your help."

Brent Randolph's face was a mask of terror as he cast a wary eye toward the detective, well within earshot, still sitting on the couch.

"What's going on?" Randolph asked, trying to sound casual.

"Some guy pretended to be a cop and kidnapped me from school," Nicholas continued, pretending to pant slightly.  "He had me tied up but I managed to get free."

Randolph racked his brain briefly, trying to figure out what to say that wouldn't reveal the nature of his conversation to the detective in the room.  "Where are you now?" he hissed in a half-whisper.

"I'm not sure," Nicholas answered.  "The guy knocked me out and I woke up here but I don't know exactly where I am.  He's gone right now so I'm going to try to sneak out and find a police station.    I'll contact you when I get there.  I-I gotta go, before I'm caught.". Then Nicholas quickly hung up the phone, exited the booth, and climbed back into the car with Pete, who was listening in.

"Who were you talking to, Mister Randolph?" demanded Joni, as soon as Randolph hung up the phone.  "Was that your nephew?"

"Um, no.  An associate.  He got into a situation and needs my assistance," Randolph replied hastily, while nervously loosening his collar.  "You'll have to excuse me, detective.  I need to take care of some important business matters.  If you need anything else from me, you'll have to come back another time."

"But I'm not finished with my questions, Mister Randolph," Joni protested, not wishing to appear too eager to let Randolph go abruptly.  "And I still want to talk to your nephew."

"I'm afraid this is rather urgent, Detective Harper.  I'm sure you understand.  Mark's a student at Cavanaugh University.  You can find him there.    And I will come to the station to finish answering your questions as soon as I take care of this important business matter."  Randolph looked her in the eye, and his voice was convincing. "You have my word."

With that, Joni nodded and allowed Randolph to usher her out the door.  As soon as the door closed behind her, she spoke into the microphone hidden in her jacket button.

"Did you get all that?"

"Good job, Joni, I think you spooked him," answered Tom proudly.  "Let's see what he does with it."

Suddenly, Pete heard a familiar sound.  "Shhhh, guys," he hissed, his voice tense.  "He's making a call."

Chapter 6

As Randolph frantically dialed a number, the digits popped up on Pete's computer screen.

"Here," Pete said to Nicholas, who was in the back, as he reached across the seat back to hand the teacher a small black device that resembled a miniature remote control, with a series of colored buttons.

"What's this?" Nicholas asked curiously.

"A special communicator.  It's connected to the buttons on Tom and Joni's jackets.  Push this button and hold it to open mic.  That way they can listen in."

Nicholas did as he was told, leaning forward for a better signal, then all was quiet as the connection was made.

"Hello?"

"Goodman!  Where's the boy?"

"Why, he's right here, Randolph, where he's supposed to be!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!  I'm looking directly at him as we speak!"

"He hasn't had access to a phone?"

Jim Goodman's laugh was a cross between humor and anxiety.  "Not as tied up as he is, pal.  What in the hell is going on?"

"I just got a call from someone who sounded just like him.  Said you were gone and he escaped."

"Impossible!"

"Then who could it have been, Goodman?"

*******

"We've got a trace!" Pete hissed triumphantly, as he quickly cross-referenced the address that corresponded to the other end of Randolph's phone call.  "Thirty-eight ten Farmview Drive.  It's about ten miles south of us."

"I'm on it," said Tom resolutely.

******

"I don't know, Randolph," Goodman answered impatiently.  "Why didn't you ask him?"

"I couldn't," answered Randolph hatefully.  "There was a detective chick here asking questions about the plane crash."

"What?"

"They're on to us, Goodman.  We'd better find somewhere else to keep the boy until tomorrow.  I'll be right over."  Then Randolph quickly broke the connection.

*******

Pete glanced back at Nicholas as he picked up his laptop and scooted into the passenger seat.  "You'd better drive us there," he directed.  "I need to relay the directions to Tom."

"Right," Nicholas agreed, as he slid into the driver's seat and set out according to Pete's direction.

"Joni," Tom directed, "call the police and send them to Goodman's address.  Then meet us there."

Pete smiled slightly at Nicholas as they traveled.  "You were great back there," he praised.  "Randolph clearly was convinced he was talking to Mark Wilkins.  How do you do that?"

Nicholas shrugged.  "It's a gift, I suppose," he said dismissively.  "My acting teacher said I had a knack for mimicry.  And Mark and I have talked so much that I can hear his voice perfectly in my mind."  Nicholas sighed heavily.  "I do hope he's all right."

Pete nodded.  "Well, it sounds like he's still alive, at least, and we're headed that way now.  This should all be over soon."

*******

Eight minutes later, Tom Copperfield pulled into the driveway of an old abandoned farmhouse.  "I'm here," he advised.

"We're right behind you, Tom," Pete advised.  "Two minutes."

"The police should be close," Joni piped in.  "With any luck, they'll get there about the same time as Randolph."

"Be careful, Tom," advised Pete.  "We don't know what this guy's capable of."

"Will do."

Tom exited his dark blue sedan just as Pete and Nicholas pulled in and eased the car quietly around the side of the residence.  Tom paused to let them by before knocking hard on the door.

"Police!  Open up!"

"What do you want?" yelled Jim Goodman from inside the house.

"I just want to talk to you about a missing boy."

There was a long pause, during which Pete slapped a donut-shaped device onto the side of the structure.  "What's that?" Nicholas asked as he got back into the car.

"A very powerful bug that can pick up all the noises from inside," Pete answered, "and record them right on this little floppy disk."

Meanwhile, Jim Goodman cracked the door slightly.  "What missing boy?"

"A student disappeared from Cavanaugh University three days ago," Tom replied.  "A witness identified you as a person of interest.  Why don't you open the door so I can talk to you?"

Several more seconds passed.  Suddenly, sirens could be heard in the distance, their increasing volume signaling that they were coming closer.

"My backup is almost here, Mister Goodman," Tom advised coolly.  "Now might be a great time to open the door."

A moment later, a very fearful Jim Goodman jerked open the door, just as two black police cars came roaring up the driveway.

"This wasn't my idea, officer," Goodman said plaintively.

"Where's the boy?" Tom asked, as two uniformed officers walked up to the door.

"He's here," Goodman confessed.  "In the back.  He's not hurt.  But you have to believe me.  This wasn't my idea!"

One of the officers handcuffed Goodman.  The other rushed toward the rear of the farmhouse to find Mark Wilkins, with Tom following close behind.

Tom and the officer found a locked closet door.  Not taking time to look for the key, the officer kicked it in.  Sitting in the floor, gagged and with hands and feet bound, was Mark Wilkins.

Chapter 7

Tom rushed to remove the gag, while the officer started working on the ropes which tied his hands.

"Are you all right, Mark?" Tom asked tensely, knowing Nicholas and the others were listening in.

"I'm okay," Mark assured him, though his voice was weak, as he felt the ropes fall limp from his hands.

"Do you need an ambulance?" demanded the officer, as he turned his attention to the student's feet.

"No, sir," Mark answered.  "I'm fine.  I'm just hungry."

"We'll have you checked out, make sure you're medically cleared, then we'll get you something to eat and take you downtown to get your statement," the officer promised, as he and Tom Copperfield helped the young man to his feet.  He staggered at first, but then nodded that he was steady.

"Has anyone told my uncle Brent?" Mark asked.

As the threesome made their way back to the living room, they could hear the sound of arguing coming from the front room.  Jim Goodman and Brent Randolph were busy going at it, even though both men had been restrained and each had an officer holding him back.

"How dare you kidnap my nephew?" Randolph demanded.

"Oh, don't pretend that this whole thing wasn't your idea!" responded Goodman.

"I'd never hurt Mark!"

"No, perhaps not.  But you sure wanted his money!  And you didn't have a problem with having me sabotage his parents' plane!"

All eyes riveted toward Mark Wilkins, as all the color drained from his face.

"Uncle Brent?  You were in on this with Professor Goodman?" he cried incredulously.  The teenager grew light-headed and his knees buckled; he would have fallen to the floor if Tom and the first officer hadn't been holding onto him.

"Mark, please," cajoled Randolph.

"Let's get him out of here," Tom urged the officer, and together they helped Mark out the door.

"I'll drive him," Tom offered, and the officer nodded, then they gently helped Mark into Tom's sedan while the other officers were loading up Randolph and Goodman.  Tom peered into the back of his car at the young student.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Mark answered quietly.  "I just don't understand."

"I know," Tom assured him.  "Once the doctor checks you out and you give your statement, I think we can help fill in the blanks for you."

Tom raised his head and shook hands with the officer who had assisted him.  "Thanks for your help, officer...?"

"Jennings," the officer smiled.  "And you are?"

"Detective Tom Carter, special agent."

"Nice to meet you, detective," officer Jennings replied.  "Hopefully, these two will be going away for a long time."

"Well, here's a little insurance policy," Pete Grayson chimed in, handing officer Jennings a small black computer disk.  "All those incriminating words are here on tape for the world to hear."

"Thank you," the officer smiled, skeptical as to the true identities of the special agent and his friend but choosing to let it go.  "Just bring Mark on to the station once he's been checked out."

Then one by one, the two police cars and Tom's sedan traveled in single file, away from the farmhouse and toward the heart of town, as Pete rushed back to his car where Nicholas was waiting.

"Did Mark look okay?" Nicholas wanted to know.

"He seems a little weak, but he says he's fine," Pete shrugged.  "You heard him." Pete smiled at his companion's concern.  "I'll run you by the hospital so you can see him."

*******

A few minutes later, Pete dropped Nicholas off at the hospital, where his student was waiting for the last of his medical tests to come back.  Nicholas tapped lightly on the door to Mark's room.

"Come in," said Mark.

Nicholas slowly stepped inside.  When Mark looked up and saw him, his face lit up in a wide grin.

"Mister Black!" he greeted, as Tom Copperfield looked on.

Nicholas smiled softly as he reached out to shake the teen's hand and pat his shoulder affectionately.  "Mark, how are you doing?"

The youth's smile faded only slightly.  "I'm doing okay," he answered quietly.  "I'm just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that my own uncle was responsible for my parents' deaths."

"I know," Nicholas said sympathetically.

"Wait," Mark said suddenly, "how did you know I was here?"

"Your teacher here was instrumental in helping us find you," Tom smiled.

Mark's wide smile returned.  "Thank you, Mister Black," he said sincerely.  "I might have known I could count on my favorite teacher."

Nicholas chuckled softly.  "Well, if I'm being honest, Mark, you're my favorite student as well." He winked at the teenager.  "But if you ever tell anyone, I'll deny it."

Mark joined in the laughter as the nurse entered the room.

"Well, Mister Wilkins, it looks like you're good to go," she smiled. 

Mark gathered his things, and he and Nicholas climbed into Tom Copperfield's car and headed to the police station to give Mark's statement.

Chapter 8

Tom and Nicholas refrained from giving Mark any additional information, so as not to taint the statement he gave to police about his ordeal.  Tom's new friends at the precinct allowed them to listen from behind the one-way mirror as Mark began to speak.

"Tell us what happened the night you were abducted, Mark," began the officer.

"I was walking through campus.  It had been a long day, and I was trying to clear my head.  Suddenly, a car approached me from behind and turned on its blue lights.  I assumed it was a campus policeman, so I stopped walking."

"What happened next?"

"The so-called cop rolled down the passenger side window.  He was wearing a policeman's hat and I didn't recognize him at first.  He told me that my uncle had been in a serious accident and he had come to take me back home to be with him.  So I climbed in.  It was only after he pulled out that I recognized him." Mark sighed.  "It was Jim Goodman."

"Your biology teacher?"

"Yes," Mark acknowledged.

"Why would he have done that?"

"I didn't know at the time," Mark admitted.  "I did think it was creepy that he asked me so many personal questions.  Questions about my uncle and my parents, and whether I had any brothers or sisters, and whether I got a scholarship to go to Cavanaugh. But I had no idea why he would have kidnapped me.  I told him that my family didn't have money."

"How did you think you were able to get into Cavanaugh?" the officer asked.

Mark shrugged.  "I figured there was a special program for orphans," he replied.

Tom glanced at Nicholas, who smiled slightly at Mark's naivete.

"Tell me about your relationship with your uncle."

Mark shrugged again.  "We really didn't have one," he admitted.  "My parents died when I was nearly sixteen.  Uncle Brent did a great job of playing the part of grieving brother and doting uncle at the service, but once the final 'Amen' was spoken it was a different ballgame.  We argued all the time.  I was never good enough, and he wanted rid of me.  So he sent me to Cavanaugh." 

The officer nodded.  "You were gone for three days.  Did Jim Goodman ever talk to you about anything?"

"No," Mark answered.  "He gave me sandwiches and water, but he never said a word to me.  I heard him talking sometimes, and I know now that he was probably talking to my uncle, but it was all muffled so I could never comprehend what he was saying."

Mark stared down at his hands.  "Once Mister Carter and Officer Jennings rescued me, I found out that Mister Goodman and Uncle Brent were in on it together." His voice dropped to a heavy whisper.  "And that Uncle Brent told Mister Goodman to sabotage my parents' plane."

Mark looked as if he were about to cry, and the questioning officer laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.  Mark looked up and smiled at the officer, then his face clouded.  "Mister Goodman said something about money.  I don't have any money.  What was he talking about?"

Once the officer made sure that Mark didn't have any further information for his statement, he advised the teenager that the companions he had arrived with would be better suited to answer the rest of his questions.  Then he released Mark to the care of his teacher and the blond detective.

*******

Once Mark was finished with his statement, the trio were joined by Pete and Joni.  The five of them grabbed a late lunch at a nearby diner and sat out on the picnic table to talk.

"So," Mark began, "would somebody please tell me why everyone thinks I have money when I don't?"

Tom sighed heavily.  "Mark, what do you know about your mom's occupation, before her death?"

"I know she was into politics.  That's about all she'd ever tell me."

"Your grandfather was the king of a small Asian country, Mark."

Mark's eyes widened.  "Which means...?"

"Your mother was a princess," Nicholas confirmed gently, laying a hand on Mark's shoulder in support, "worth around five million dollars."

"Money we think will be all yours tomorrow, on your eighteenth birthday," finished Joni.

"You had no idea, did you?" noted Nicholas.

"I didn't have a clue," Mark admitted.

"That's why we think your uncle killed your parents and had you kidnapped," said Pete.  "He was after the money."

"If this is true," Mark said pensively, "how do you think I'll find out?  Tomorrow is Sunday.  There's no mail."

"My guess is a telegram to your address of record," stated Tom. 

"My uncle's house," mused Mark.

"At least he's not there," scoffed Joni, wrinkling her nose.

Mark turned to Nicholas.  "Will you stay there with me, Mister Black?  To wait for it?"

"Of course I will, Mark," his teacher smiled.  "And I think you've earned the right to call me Nicholas."

*******

Once the debriefing, as it were, was over, Nicholas and Mark stood up to bid goodbyes and thank you's to Pete and Joni, who were headed back to San Francisco to wait the next mission.  Tom was staying behind with the teacher and his student, to see the mission through to the very end by making sure that Mark got his money.

The five of them walked to their cars.  Nicholas and Mark climbed into Tom's car, while Tom lingered at Pete's driver's side window, ostensibly for a prolonged farewell.

"You guys be safe," he cautioned.  "I'll let you know what happens."

"Are you going to talk to him?". Pete asked curiously.

"Once I get him to himself," he affirmed.  "Probably tomorrow."

And with that, Tom got into his own car to head to the Randolph mansion, while Pete and Joni drove away.

Chapter 9

The next morning, at precisely ten a.m., a yellow telegram arrived at the Randolph mansion, addressed to Marcus Anthony Wilkins.  With shaky fingers, the student - now an adult - opened it.  Inside was the name of a bank and an account number.  All Mark had to do was show his identification, as he'd done when receiving the wire, and sign some documents as formality.  Then he'd have sole access to his parents' five million dollar fortune.

As he sat starting at the telegram in disbelief, Nicholas addressed him.

"So where do you go from here, Mark?  The world is your oyster now."

Mark looked into his teacher's eyes and smiled.  "Back to finish the term at Cavanaugh."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.  "But there's nothing holding you there, now that your uncle is behind bars."

"Yes, there is," Mark countered, his eyes twinkling.  "You, and finishing my favorite class, and graduation."

"And then?"

"Who knows?". Mark said thoughtfully.  "As you said, the world is my oyster.  I may just decide to go to college to study acting."

Nicholas smiled warmly at his protege, then his eyes narrowed.  "Speaking of that," he mused, "there's one question you haven't answered, and in the midst of all the excitement I forgot to ask.  Why all the fascination with disguises and changing your identity?"

Mark sighed heavily and looked down at his hands.  "When my parents died, I no longer felt like I had an identity.  I lost all connection with my family, and I sure didn't feel any with my uncle."

The youth smiled slightly at his teacher.  "I was fascinated with your class, and the experiences you shared.  I fantasized about one day walking out of Cavanaugh and into a brand new life, knowing my resources would be limited." He looked back down at the telegram, and his voice shook slightly.  "Guess I don't have to worry about the limitations now."

Nicholas laid a kind hand on the student's shoulder.  "You can be anyone you want to be, Mark.  But I hope you stay true to the person you are inside."

Mark's smile grew even wider.  "Don't worry, Mister Black.  I will."

"I told you, it's Nicholas."

"I know," Mark answered with a wink, "but if I'm going back to class I'd better not break the habit."

*******

An hour later, the three men pulled up in front of the designated bank.  Mark hesitated nervously before getting out.

"We'll wait for you out here," promised Tom.

Mark looked uncertainly at his teacher.

"It's okay, Mark," Nicholas reassured him.  "You can do this."

Then as Mark disappeared into the bank, Tom Copperfield turned to his companion.

"Mister Black," he began with formality, his icy blue eyes piercing as he stared into the teacher's soft brown ones, "There's something I need to tell you.  I'm not really a private investigator."

"Okay," Nicholas acknowledged casually, as if years of being an actor had accustomed him to the idea that people were not always who they claimed to be.  "Then what are you?"

"Pete, Joni and I are all members of a classified government organization that runs top-secret undercover missions of national importance all over the world."

Nicholas started to burst into laughter at the absurdity, but Tom Copperfield did not strike him as the sort who would joke about anything.  The glare in the blond's eyes confirmed that notion.

"You're serious."

"Very much so," Tom replied.  "We were assigned this mission because Susan Wilkins' father was an ally of the United States."

Nicholas nodded.  "That makes sense," he observed.  "But why are you telling me all this?"

"We were very impressed by your knack for planning missions and your mimicry abilities," Tom replied with a half-smile.  "If your makeup skills are half as impressive, you'd make a great addition to our team."

Nicholas stared at Tom incredulously.  "I've already talked to Pete, Joni, and our superiors.  They are all in agreement."

"But I already have a job."

"Most of us do," Tom smiled.  "Most missions only last three to five days - a week at the most - so we've been able to work around our normal schedules."

"Well, I do have teaching assistants," Nicholas said thoughtfully, feeling a twinge of excitement at the possibility, "so I suppose I could make it work."

"And you could be a different character with every mission," Tom suggested, finally allowing a smile to crack his serious facade.  "I'm sure that appeals to the actor within."

Nicholas broke into a wide grin.  "It certainly does," he agreed.

"I won't lie to you, it's dangerous work," Tom advised, "and there's a lot to it.  But we could use your talent, if you're interested."

Nicholas paused only a moment more.  "Count me in," he finally said, grasping the blond's hand in a firm handshake.  "It'll be my pleasure working with you guys again."

Mark Wilkins emerged from the big office building, oblivious to the conversation that had just happened, and the three men headed back toward Cavanaugh.

The End

(c) 2018