It's early evening at Lakeville, and at the airport the sun has just dipped beneath the rim of the horizon and the field is bathed in blue, twilight shadows. All is quiet as daylight melts into darkness. In the living room of the house across from the field, Hop is seated at the desk going over accounts when the phone rings. When Aunt Agatha answered, a strange voice said "beware, the black hand" before laughing and hanging up...