Surprise on Seagull Beach
(Alternate Version)
By Jadzia3999
Additional writing credit goes to Susan Zodin for her tireless effort in helping me with this story. This story wouldn't have been made possible without her help.
Disclaimer:Stephen J. Cannell Productions owns the characters of Hardcastle and McCormick. I, in no way, make any profit from these characters or stories written.
Rating: T
Description: Alternate version of Surprise on Seagull Beach. (Written by Patrick Hasburgh/Directed by Michael O'herlihy/Original airdate: March 4, 1985) Lots of Mark Whumping here. Need I say more?
Introduction: For the past few months, Judge Hardcastle had been fighting to keep Seagull Beach private. The beach was very special to him since he and his wife Nancy had shared many happy times there. An argument over the issue of public access had reared up when local teenagers who wanted to surf in the area held demonstrations about making the beach public and put forth their viewpoint in a Beach Association meeting. Despite the protests and the petitions of all the homeowners who lived along that coast, the kids won their case; however, Hardcastle tried to block their invasion by having a judicial colleague issue a restraining order. To exacerbate the situation, it turned out that Nazi leaders had buried millions of dollars worth of gold on the beach back in the early 1940's to create a hidden fund for the use of the Third Reich—gold which now was being searched for by not only the remnants of the Reich command, but also by local residents. Mark found himself the unwilling focus of their investigation into the location of the treasure and faced a terrible fate if he didn't come up with the right answers.
Chapter 1
In the 14th District of Paris, France, there is an antique store, the Marche Aux Puces. A tall elderly gentleman in his late sixties entered it one day, looking for a special item. He had a strong, gruff look about him that intimidated the shop owner, but the proprietor took a deep breath and greeted him with a pleasant smile pasted on his trembling lips.
"Oui, Monsieur...is there something I may do for you?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the man. "My name is Agon Caup. A man by the name of Guenther Reisemann told me that I could find a specific map here."
"Perhaps," said the merchant. "Can you please describe the map that you were looking for?"
"It contained information about where the Nazis had buried gold in California around fifty years ago." Caup answered.
The Frenchman now understood the strange feeling he had experienced the minute Caup walked in the door. Reisemann was a notorious Nazi war criminal, and the storeowner knew the German commander would send his men out to kill him if he didn't produce the map. He was not going to disappoint. He locked the front door so they would not be disturbed and led Caup to the storage area in the back of the shop.
"I think I know what you are looking for." He grabbed a metal tube-like case and handed it to Caup. "Perhaps something like this?" he suggested. "A very special piece this is, no?" Caup noted the emblems on it from the Nazi Secret Service. He opened the case and inspected the map, smiling in pleasure.
How much do you want for this?" he asked.
"One thousand francs."
"And you are sure that this is the map that will help the Reich find the gold?" asked Caup.
"Oui, monsieur", replied the Frenchman, still nervous, but not willing to let it show.
Coup put the map in his briefcase, paid the owner, and quickly left the shop. Finding a payphone on the street corner, he made a call to Reisemann.
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Guenther Reisemann was a very loyal member of the Third Reich and had received numerous commendations from Hitler himself for his efforts during the war. The man was white-haired with a moustache and was tall in stature. He commanded such a strong presence of power that the other members of the Reich were afraid of him and would never dare to disobey or double-cross him. Reisemann was very powerful and was known for his cruel torture techniques that had proved so useful in getting information from the enemies of the Fatherland.
"The merchant guaranteed that this is the map we have been looking for, Herr Reisemann. It shows the position of the cache to be at a place called Seagull Beach in Malibu, California."
"Excellent, Caup" replied Reisemann. "You will be greatly rewarded once we find the gold".
"Thank you, sir. I am headed for the airport now. I should be in California in about ten hours," Caup confirmed.
"I will have my men pick you up from LAX when you arrive. You have served well as a loyal member of the Reich".
Driving down the highway to the airport, Caup noticed another car followed closely behind him. He quickly sped up, but the second vehicle followed suit and slammed into him, pushing him off the road. Caup tried to keep his car steady while the person behind him kept rear-ending him, hitting him harder with every bump. As they turned the corner, the pursuing vehicle slammed into Caup one last time, forcing him to lose control. His car flipped over the side of the road, rolling down the embankment and killing him instantly.
The attacker stopped his car and climbed down the hill. He began searching for the map inside of Caup's vehicle and then saw the briefcase. Opening it to make sure the map was inside, he went back up to his car and headed towards the airport for Los Angeles.
Chapter 2
"MCCORMICK!!!"
"MCCORMICK, GET DOWN HERE!"
It was six thirty on Saturday morning and Mark McCormick was enjoying his dream fantasy when Hardcastle bellowed for him to get out of the Gatehouse. The young man enjoyed sleeping, but would enjoy it more if he was allowed to do it past seven a.m.. Ever since he was taken into Judge Milton C. Hardcastle's custody, sleep appeared to be something he was completely deprived of, but it was better than San Quentin prison, and if that meant never sleeping again, that was fine with him.
As he slowly got up, Hardcastle was still shouting out for him. Mark quickly got dressed and headed down the stairs. Once he opened the door, the sight of the large burly man staring him in the face with his arms crossed and feet tapping in anger startled him.
"Judge," McCormick said with a nervous giggle. "What are you doing here?"
"What took you so long, McCormick?" questioned the jurist. "Don't you know I've been calling you for the past ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes? I can't believe that, Judge. I was up ten minutes ago, and I would have heard you. My ears must be stopped up." Mark answered impishly.
"Okay, wise guy, that's enough out of you. I need your help."
"What's wrong this time, Judge? Did you try to fix your truck again?"
"No, it's those damn kids at the beach. They're back, and I need you to help me get those troublemakers out of there."
"Why?" questioned Mark, sounding confused over the judge's demands. "They have a right to be there."
"No they don't, McCormick," Hardcastle responded. "I called Judge Washington yesterday and had him file a restraining order to keep the beach private, and I'm going to have those kids arrested if they don't go now!"
"But I thought those kids won their case with the Beach Association to have the beach opened to the public?" McCormick was confused.
"Well, things change, and besides--it's only temporary. Now are you going to help me or not?" yelled Hardcastle.
"Take it easy, Judge. I mean, what's the big deal?" asked Mark. "It's just a beach."
"It's not 'just a beach', McCormick...besides," the older man lowered his voice, "I have my reasons." He took a breath and began to shout again, "I want those people out of here! Now!"
After the last of the kids were persuaded to leave, Hardcastle walked toward the shoreline.
"Go ahead--say it", the judge grumbled.
"What?" asked Mark.
"I'm wrong."
"Okay. You're wrong." Mark finally admitted. "These kids have a right to this beach the same as you do."
"You don't understand, McCormick!" said Hardcastle.
"You're right, Judge, I don't understand. So make me understand," McCormick asked. "I really want to know why this is so important to you. Why you continue to fight over this whole deal. Why you can't accept defeat?"
The judge couldn't believe what he just heard. Defeated?, he thought to himself as he looked at McCormick, who couldn't believe it himself that he could say something like that to Hardcastle and not get punched in the face. But Milt admired the kid for it and decided he should finally tell him what had been on his mind since the kids invaded his beach.
"Sometimes, late at night when you're asleep, I come down here to be alone and think of things. Stuff that happened in the past...with my wife and...well, just things in the past that made me happy."
"But what's so special about this place, Judge?" Mark asked. "You can do that all over the estate."
"I asked my wife to marry me here—that's why!" Hardcastle shouted. He pointed, "Right here!" He thought for a moment, then walked a few feet over, correcting himself. "No, it was right there."
"I didn't know, Judge," Mark apologized.
Hardcastle said quietly. "She used to call this place Seagull Beach. We'd come down here at sunset and watch the birds flying over the surf, diving into the waves for fish, and we'd see the daylight slowly fade out and enjoy the silence. This was our spot." He scuffed the toe of his shoe in the sand in an aimless pattern, then lashed out in embarrassment over his brooding, "And I don't want to have a whole bunch of kids with weird hairstyles and tiny bikinis trashing the place and making a racket with their boom boxes!"
McCormick was not used to seeing this side of the older man, and when he did, it usually wasn't this intense. The Judge never mentioned his past life with his wife too much--the last time they talked about her was a few months ago when Mark was helping Kathy Kasternack investigate the crooked cops who had set up a private criminal "gang". Hardcastle had seen McCormick's romantic interest in the girl and described how he and Nancy had first met.
But for some reason this was different. This was a special place for the Judge and it was being taken away from him. The feeling of not having any control, maybe for the first time in his life, was 'killing' the Judge, and McCormick felt Hardcastle's pain inside himself and wished he could do something to help him. Unfortunately, this wasn't as easy as the cases they worked on--this time his hands were tied by the decision of the community council.
"I need some more time to get ready to give our place away," Hardcastle said quietly. "Please keep these kids out of here until I get used to the idea...okay, kiddo?"
McCormick nodded in agreement as he watched Hardcastle head back to the house. He respected the judge's viewpoint. They were best friends, and best friends help each other out and stand by each other, even if they are "legally" in the wrong.
Chapter 3
Later that evening, Guenther Reisemann was relaxing with a glass of wine and enjoying the quiet in his mansion when he received a call from his assistant who had been sent to the LAX airport to pick up Caup. He was known as Zimmerman. He was in his mid-forties, dark-haired and of medium build, and wouldn't hesitate to kill if Reisemann ordered him to. Completely loyal to the Nazi commander, Zimmerman had risked his life several times for the Reich. He was diagnosed as criminally insane and had a vicious temper.
"Herr Reisemann," he stated, "I regret to inform you that Caup never boarded the plane."
"What? What do you mean he 'never boarded the plane'?" the Nazi commander exploded. " I talked to him this morning, and he told me he was on his way back to Los Angeles."
"Perhaps he missed his flight", Zimmerman suggested as Reisemann fumed at the other end of the line.
"He better have missed his flight" Reisemann said, "...or else he'll wish he had. You better call one of our men in Paris to find him--and once he does, have him call me as soon as possible. Do you hear me?" he demanded.
"Yes mein Fuhrer", replied Zimmerman.
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After he arrived home from the airport with the map, Caup's killer unrolled it and saw all of the marked areas around Seagull Beach. He then picked up the phone to phone his accomplice.
"Jackson? This is Maxwell. I have the map to the gold. Wait for me and I'll come and pick you up from your house." About an hour later, the two men drove down the rear/ocean-side road accessing Seagull Beach. Checking to make sure no one was watching from the estate side, they grabbed their shovels and started digging up the sand. They searched through several yards of ground before they finally found the treasure. After Maxwell put the gold in his metal briefcase, they headed to his vehicle and took off, leaving the beach full of large deep pits.
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The next morning, Zimmerman informed Reisemann that his men in Paris had discovered Caup's whereabouts.
"Where?" Reisemann asked.
"They found his body over a ravine by the airport road," said Zimmerman. "We have a huge problem. When our men went to retrieve Caup's things, they discovered that the map wasn't among them."
"What?" Reisemann exclaimed angrily.
"Someone else is involved in this," Zimmerman said.
Reisemann's eyes narrowed after hearing Zimmerman speculate that anyone else would know about the gold. He paused for a moment and then ordered, "I want you to take a couple of our men, and go to this...what is it?...'Seagull Beach'. Find out who has interfered with our plan. Now!"
"Heil, mein Fuhrer", answered Zimmerman as he and two other men quickly headed out toward Malibu.
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It was six o'clock in the morning when McCormick headed for the beach to continue his chore of keeping the surfers away. Mark looked up to the judge, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was disappoint him by sleeping in and letting all of those kids take over the area.
Once he arrived at the beach, Mark stopped in total shock. He couldn't believe his eyes. The beachfront was dug up. There were deep holes everywhere from the waterline to the back rocks. As he looked in wonderment, he started to think that maybe some of the surfers were so mad about getting kicked off the beach that they might have done this as a show of revenge. While McCormick wandered around the beach to see if he could find any clues, Zimmerman and his men pulled up in a van.
"Someone is down there!" cried Zimmerman. "Go get the Schmeiser", he ordered.
Zimmerman and the men headed down to the beach and intercepted McCormick. "What's going on here?" Mark nervously asked as he noticed the machine gun pointing at him.
"I was just about to ask you the same question", replied the German, as he fired the machine gun at the sand, forcing Mark to jump into one of the sand pits for cover.
"Take it easy", McCormick pleaded.
One of Zimmerman's assistants tightly grabbed Mark's arm. McCormick jolted it free and hit the man in the face in an attempt to get away, but a heavy blow to the head by a machine gun rendered Mark unconscious. After the men tied him up, they lifted the limp body out of the sand hole, threw him into the van, and quickly drove off.
Chapter 4
It was eight a.m. when Hardcastle went to search for McCormick at the Gatehouse and noticed he wasn't there. Walking around to the back side of the main house, he noticed the Coyote parked in the garage. Calling out for the young man got no answer. He remembered Mark's promise to him that he'd keep an eye on the beach so that the surfers wouldn't oppose the restraining order, so he walked down the path to the ocean. To his surprise he saw the shoreline was all dug up. As the judge walked around the damaged area, he noticed eight shell casings were lying in the sand. Hardcastle felt his heart fill with concern for his young friend, especially after noticing blood by one of the holes. There was no sign of the kid anywhere, and Hardcastle felt sick as he thought of Mark being attacked. Picking up the shell casings, he ran back to the house, jumped into his truck ,and headed for the police station.
Lieutenant Bill Giles was going through his police reports when Hardcastle stormed into his office.
"Milt, what's wrong?" asked Giles, looking alarmed at the jurist, who appeared tense and upset..
"Bill, it's about McCormick. He's missing...or worse," the judge stated, visibly worried about the fate of his young friend.
"What do you mean, Milt? What happened?"
"I don't know Bill. I found these on the beach." Hardcastle showed Bill the shell casings. "I think someone shot McCormick, and I want ballistics to find out who these belong to so we can get these guys."
Giles grabbed the shell casings and, putting them in a clear plastic bag, gave them to his assistant to take to the forensics lab.
"We should find out within the hour," Giles said as he watched Hardcastle standing stiffly by the desk, a pensive expression on his features. "Milt, don't worry. I'm sure Mark's all right."
"I hope you're right, Bill" Hardcastle said, as he tried to convince himself that McCormick was safe somewhere.
"Tell me what happened. When was the last time you saw Mark today?"
"I didn't, now that you mention it." Hardcastle realized that the last time he saw McCormick was just before bedtime the night before. "I'm pretty sure he got up early. He knows how important this beach thing is to me and promised me he'd help keep the surfers off the property."
"Do you think the surfers may have something to do with this?" Giles asked hoping to shed some light on what could have happened to McCormick.
"No, I already thought of that...but you should have seen the beach." Hardcastle answered. "It looked like a geological dig. I also found blood on the sand and signs of a struggle."
"I know you don't want to hear this, Milt--but based on what you just told me--do you think Mark could be lost at sea?" Giles asked carefully.
Hardcastle, startled by the cop's question, suddenly felt the need to sit down and take a deep breath over the thought McCormick might be dead and buried in the ocean somewhere.
"I'm sorry, Milt. I had to ask".
Hardcastle understood Giles' position and knew the police lieutenant wouldn't ask such a question unless it was justified. "I don't know, Bill," Hardcastle paused for a moment. "I just feel that McCormick's alive. I don't want to think of anything else just now."
As they waited for the ballistics report, Giles was able to give the older man some emotional reassurance that they'd work together to find out what happened to Mark, and slowly the judge calmed his worried mind down. After about a half an hour, the call came from the lab.
"This is Giles," the lieutenant answered as Hardcastle sat up and waited to hear what they had found out. "Okay, thanks," Giles remarked into the receiver, writing down the details, then hung the phone up.
"You're never going to believe this, but the shell casings were from a Schmeiser MP40."
"That's a machine gun, isn't it?" asked Hardcastle.
"Yes, it is," confirmed Giles. "And finding the registered owner isn't going to be easy. That model hasn't been manufactured in over fifty years. It used to be a weapon of choice for the Geheimdienst".
"The Gehei...what?"
"Hitler's personal goon squad," said Giles.
Hardcastle stared blankly at the cop, trying to put together the whole situation, and now more concerned about what could have happened to McCormick.
"Are you telling me that Nazis are involved in McCormick's disappearance?"
"I can't answer that, Milt--at least not until we can get more information."
"Thanks for your help, Bill," the judge stated gratefully. "I'll go back to the house and see if I can't get more clues."
Hardcastle left Giles' office more confused than he was over an hour ago. He had hoped that the evidence left on the beach would have been easy to use to find McCormick, but now he found himself at a dead end.
The judge sat in his truck for several minutes to collect his thoughts, and suddenly felt a tear roll down his cheek for fear that McCormick may be dead. "Not now!" he yelled silently to himself. "McCormick is alive, you old donkey, and he needs your help." Hardcastle wiped the tear from his eye and threw the gearshift into "drive", heading quickly back to Seagull Beach.
Chapter 5
McCormick finally woke up, feeling weak from the blow to the head he received earlier, and found himself in a bright room with his hands tied behind his back. Zimmerman and several men were watching over him—their machine guns at the ready.
"Look", he started, "I don't know what I'm doing here...but whatever it is you want, you've got the wrong guy."
"Don't tell it to me," Zimmerman said. "My superior wants to hear your explanation." He walked to the door and opened it, then spoke to a person inside the next room, telling him that Mark was conscious now.
As Reisemann entered, he stood in front of McCormick and studied him like he was an insect on display in a case, passionless yet focused.
"This is the man that dug up the beach," Zimmerman told the Nazi commander.
"So, you're the one who was on my beach?" Reisemann asked McCormick, with a sly grin on his face.
"Hey, a lot of people have been thinking it's their beach, you know?" McCormick snickered, hoping to enlighten the mood of the room, but his joke only made Reisemann angrier. He summoned one of his men forward with a flick of his hand to punch Mark in the face. Mark's head snapped back after the jolt. He felt blood trickle down his lower right lip, and licked it off quickly.
"Why were you digging there?" Reisemann demanded, his patience wearing thin.
"I don't know what you're talking about," answered McCormick. "I didn't dig those holes. They were there when I arrived."
"The Reich has no time for games", Reisemann exclaimed .
"The Reich?" Mark stared in amazement. "You're Nazis."
"Exactly", confirmed Reisemann. He walked over to the mantle and picked up a shiny long object. Pointing it at the TV, it generated a sudden charge of electricity out of its tip.
Mark watched Reisemann nervously as he noticed that the object Reisemann was holding was a cattle prod and feared real trouble lay ahead if he didn't provide the man with the information he was looking for. Unfortunately, the "ignorance is bliss" excuse wasn't going to work this time.
"Are you going to tell me where it is?" Reisemann asked as he walked closer to McCormick with the cattle prod pointed toward him.
"Where's what?" McCormick gulped as he felt his stomach tie itself up in knots.
"You know what ." Reisemann replied sternly as he started to lose his patience over McCormick's evasive behavior. He ordered his men to rip Mark's shirt off.
"I don't know--honest !" McCormick pleaded, trying to twist his body away from the prod. Reisemann inched closer toward McCormick with the point of the probe almost touching him. "If you tell me what it is you're looking for, I might be able to answer you, but I can't unless you tell me….ahh!!!"
Mark cried in pain as Reisemann jabbed the cattle prod against his bare chest, sending an electrical wave throughout his body.
"I told you, I don't have time for games", said Reisemann. He stood over McCormick, who was trying to catch his breath from the shock. "Are you going to tell me what I want to hear?"
"And I told you," McCormick answered breathing heavily and still writhing from the pain, "that I don't know what it is you want."
"You're lying!" yelled Reisemann as he inched the cattle prod closer for another assault. "Tell me where it is, or you will have another jolt!"
"Well, you're going to have to do what you have to, man, because I don't know Shit!" Mark yelled as he prepared mentally for what he expected would be the worst torture in his life.
Reisemann didn't waste any time as he jabbed the cattle prod into McCormick's chest. McCormick screamed–it felt as if a drill was piercing through his body. Reisemann continued to administer the electric shocks every few seconds, shouting at him to tell the truth and jabbing the electrode all over Mark's torso and limbs. McCormick 's heart started to spasm with every jolt and became erratic in rhythm. His skin, all covered in blisters, started to break and bleed. Mark stubbornly kept his lips tightly closed, even though his teeth were gritting to keep his screams muffled. When the Nazi couldn't find any more places on the lower body to prod McCormick, he then started to shock the side of his head. Mark was finding it harder to breathe as the pain worsened and started to cough up blood. Finally, the damage to his nervous system was so severe that he started seizing.
Reisemann looked in amazement over how this young man could handle so much abuse without confessing to the theft of the gold, while McCormick hoped that this torture would end soon or at least he'd lose consciousness so he wouldn't feel any more pain. As the Nazi shocked McCormick one more time, Mark's muscles seized violently. He gasped in pain, then his body finally collapsed and he blacked out.
Reisemann stopped and ordered Zimmerman to check McCormick for a pulse.
"He's still alive," Zimmerman replied, feeling a faint beat on McCormick's neck.
"Good," said Reisemann. "We'll begin again when he regains consciousness." He put the cattle prod down and studied the limp body of the young man.
"Let us hope that when he does wake up, he will cooperate."
Chapter 6
Back at Seagull Beach, Hardcastle grew more worried for McCormick, and time was running out. He noticed a few kids hanging around and he decided to talk to some of them to see if they knew anything. As he approached them, they looked at him nervously and started to pack up their things.
"We're leaving, okay? You don't have to chase us," cried Razz, one of the kids who had protested at the beach association meeting to allow the beach to go public.
"No, I didn't come down here to tell you guys to leave," said Hardcastle. "I wanted to ask you something about what happened here yesterday."
"What? Do you think we had something to do with this?" asked Razz, waving his hand at the sand pits.
"No, I don't. I want to know if you saw anything...any strange people hanging around or asking questions." The jurist stood facing them with his arms crossed, a stern expression on his face.
"Hey, man, we don't have any idea how those holes got dug on the beach," Razz replied.
Hardcastle didn't like Razz. He remembered him from the meeting and thought he was a smart-mouthed kid who didn't show respect for anyone. But if he was going to get any cooperation from him, he better treat him nicely, or otherwise he might never see McCormick again. That was more important than rights to a beach.
"Look. Something's going on around here. My friend is missing, and this damage to my property is tied up with that." the judge replied. "Have you ever heard a story about anything being buried along this coast?"
The teenagers all looked at each other as they thought about Hardcastle's question, then one of them spoke up. "Yeah, maybe I got something. This old guy told me once about some kind of buried treasure or something that's supposed to be around here. But he was kind of drunk, so maybe he made the whole thing up."
"Where can I find him?" asked Hardcastle
"He owns a place called Sandy's Seaside. It's a souvenir shop just up the coast."
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Sandy's Seaside was one of many tourist businesses along the Pacific Coast Highway. The owner was taking inventory when the judge walked in, and asked if he could help him.
Hardcastle introduced himself and casually asked if Sandy had ever heard of a treasure buried on the nearby beaches.
Sandy nodded. He'd spent about fifteen years looking for it, he confessed with a grin. It was reported to be worth millions. Unfortunately, the best guess he found as to its location ended up being a private area called Seagull Beach, owned by a rich family. He'd finally given up the search, figuring that the Nazi gold cache he'd heard about was just a legend.
Hardcastle thanked him, intrigued by the second mention of Nazis possibly being involved in the beach attack, and started to leave. Sandy paused in thought, then added that the judge might find more information from a man called Maxwell, who'd supposedly been in the civil defense team who'd detected the German presence on the beach back sometime in the 1940's. He had a souvenir shop as well, near the pier.
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At Maxwell's shop, the judge asked him if he knew something about a place nearby called Seagull Beach. Maxwell pretended to think, then shook his head. Hardcastle remarked that that was odd...he'd heard Maxwell was in the civil defense team years ago when some Nazis were burying something there, but the store owner denied it, and finally Hardcastle seemed to give in and decide he was in the wrong place. He thanked Maxwell and turned to go.
Maxwell was thinking frantically—who was this guy and what did he know? He had been sure there were no witnesses to the excavation of the treasure, and this man didn't seem to have been involved in the map incident in Paris. He asked the judge his name.
"Hardcastle. Milt Hardcastle. I own a little place up above Seagull Beach." The judge gave the storeowner a somber look. "I think you know something." he commented. "I'll keep my eye on you."
The judge left the shop and headed for the nearest payphone to call Bill Giles. He told the cop about the legend of the Nazi gold and asked for a check on Maxwell's background. Giles also arranged for some patrol units to be on standby in case of another invasion of Gulls' Way.
Chapter 7
As Mark started to gain consciousness, he found that his hands were still tied behind his back. He tried to lift his head up to see where he was, but his eyes were practically welled shut from the attack of the cattle prod. Trying to focus them, he saw a white figure in front of him whom he thought looked familiar.
"Hardcastle?" McCormick mumbled weakly. "Hardcastle... is that you? Am I at Gull's Way?"
Reisemann and Zimmerman both looked at each other as McCormick kept repeating the judge's name. This man Hardcastle must be the one who has our gold, Reisemann thought, as he ordered his men to grab McCormick from the chair and take him to the van.
As McCormick lay bound in the back of the van, he kept mumbling to himself. "Tell me where Hardcastle is," asked Reisemann, aware that Mark was not fully conscious but would answer questions without evasion due to his delirium.
"Gull's Way…the beach…Gatehouse," McCormick kept rambling on about his life at the estate. How much he enjoyed living there and being with the Judge--playing basketball, going on trips, being treated like the judge's own son. McCormick went in and out of consciousness while he rambled on, then suddenly his body started shaking in another seizure. McCormick's throat gagged, then he coughed up massive amounts of blood. One of the men turned McCormick to his side to stop it from entering the lungs.
"Is he all right back there?" asked Reisemann, concerned.
"I don't think so. He's lost a lot of blood." replied one of his men. "I don't think that he'll survive much longer."
"That's too bad," Reisemann turned to Zimmerman. "I must confess that I was very impressed by his fortitude. He would have made an excellent soldier for the Reich."
Chapter 8
At the police station, Giles sat waiting at his desk in his office when his assistant walked in and provided him with information about James Maxwell. He'd been in trouble with the law before—mostly selling illegal weapons, and in the early 1940's had been caught trespassing and cited with damaging areas on the Gull's Way estate. He had been in the Civil Defense for this part of the coast in 1941. Giles thanked the cop and picked up the phone to call Hardcastle.
Meanwhile, back at the estate, Hardcastle was walking toward the front door to answer the bell. Maxwell was standing on the porch, holding a gun. He demanded entrance, and forcing the Judge into the den, Maxwell demanded that the judge hand over the gold. Hardcastle denied having it and countered the request with a query about McCormick's whereabouts.
With the gun pointed at Hardcastle, Maxwell heard the phone ring and pulled its extension cord out of the wall socket. On the other end, Giles heard the phone disconnect and immediately called the standby units to drive over to Hardcastle's house in case there was any trouble.
Just as Maxwell returned to face Hardcastle, a wave of machine gun fire blasted through the windows of the den, forcing both Hardcastle and Maxwell down on the floor for cover. The two men slowly stood up when Zimmerman came in with his machine gun aimed at them, followed by Reisemann. Immediately behind him were two men carrying a lifeless-seeming McCormick by his arms. They roughly tossed his body onto the den floor.
Hardcastle's heart sank as he quickly ran to his friend's side to see if he was all right, but he could tell from the blood and burn marks all over the kid's face and body that he was in much worse shape than he could ever imagine. He tried to waken McCormick, but got no response. Checking Mark's neck for a pulse, he managed to find a very faint one. Suddenly filled with rage, the judge turned and charged toward Reisemann only to be intercepted by a gun-jab in the gut by Zimmerman. Hardcastle fell back next to McCormick's body.
"You bastard--what have you done to him?" the judge shouted, breathing heavily and holding his stomach in pain.
"You should be very proud of him," Reisemann said while he watched Hardcastle cradle McCormick into his arms. "If he dies, you will be happy to know he was a brave man."
"Who the hell are you guys?" Hardcastle demanded.
"I am Colonel Guenther Riesemann, Chief of the German Secret Service."
Milt asked the reason for the attack on McCormick--the kid hadn't known anything about the buried gold. Reisemann acknowledged that he realized that now, but the kid had helped lead him to the true thief of the treasure--Hardcastle. With a smile, the judge denied it and introduced Reisemann to the actual robber, a man whom the Germans remembered well from a meeting years ago on the beach—Maxwell.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Giles and two police units had arrived at Gull's Way . They blocked the entrance at the front gate and kept their weapons ready for action. Seeing Reisemann and his men dragging Maxwell out of the house toward a van, they raced up the drive, sirens blaring, and took them all into custody.
Chapter 9
"Milt !" Giles shouted as he entered the house. "Is everything all right in there?"
"No, Bill, it's not," Hardcastle yelled from the den. "McCormick has been hurt bad and he needs to go to the hospital immediately."
Giles quickly ran to his car and called for an ambulance, which arrived quickly. He then helped organize the transfer of his prisoners by his men. "Get them down to the station and put them in the maximum security cells," he ordered. "Then notify the Feds about the Nazi connection and the international crime plan. Tell them I'll call as soon as I can to fill them in." He watched the patrol cars drive off, then walked back to where Hardcastle was watching over Mark's body.
As the medics performed an initial exam, the judge just stared at McCormick in a shocked and confused state and didn't respond to the questions he was asked. Mark was breathing, but his pulse-rate was slowing and his blood pressure was dropping rapidly.
"We're losing him," shouted the medic to his partner as he began administering oxygen with a ventilation bag. The other man hooked Mark up to the EKG machine with wires.
"We need to start an IV. Is he allergic to anything, sir?" the EMT asked Hardcastle who looked in disbelief. "Sir, sir, can you hear me?"
"No, I don't think he is allergic to anything," Milt finally answered, slowly coming back to reality.
"He's lost a lot of blood," the medic continued as he examined McCormick. "It looks like he's got internal bleeding. He's going into hypovolemic shock. We need to get him out of here now!"
The medics started the IV and were preparing McCormick for transport when he suddenly flat lined. The medics quickly grabbed the defibrillator and administered a shock with the paddles on Mark's chest, getting his heart beating again.
Hardcastle looked on in horror as he watched his friend slipping faster away into death every second. He couldn't believe this was happening. Giles put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Milt, I've got to go back to the station to oversee the booking and do a report. You ride in the ambulance, okay?" He looked at one of the EMT's, who nodded. "Okay, Milt?" he repeated.
"Yeah...yeah...okay..." the judge mumbled vaguely, as the medics positioned the gurney into the ambulance and he climbed in. All his focus was on the young man lying so still and pale before him.
Hardcastle sat quietly in the ambulance, his mind in disbelief and grief, holding Mark's hand while the medics kept working on the young man. He was frightened seeing the tubes and wires keeping the kid alive, and it was the first time he realized that McCormick might die. He deeply blamed himself for this.
All because of a stupid beach, he thought to himself ,as he laid his head wearily against the side wall of the vehicle. What had started as a "business-like" plan to rehabilitate the ex-con had turned into a great friendship, and now it might all end because of his stubbornness.
00000
They finally arrived at the hospital, but the trip had not been without its problems. McCormick's blood pressure kept dropping, so they started more IV fluids; then his heart stopped twice requiring CPR and more defibrillator shocks. The medics had been concerned about the possibility that Mark may have suffered some brain damage from the lack of oxygen going into his brain. McCormick was rushed into the emergency room, where they continued their efforts to keep him alive so that they could get him into surgery. Time was of the essence, and if they couldn't get his blood pressure up to normal, his chance of surviving surgery was slim.
Hardcastle paced back and forth outside of the emergency room as he waited for one of the doctors to come out to give him some news. He had been there over an hour when he saw the medical team rush McCormick down the hall toward the O.R. He tried to follow, but one of the nurses stopped him.
"How is he?" the jurist asked fearfully.
"Mr. Hardcastle, the doctors are going to do everything to help your friend, but you must stay here and let them do their jobs." She felt sympathetic toward the older man whose face betrayed his pain and worry.
"What are his chances?" he asked.
"Mr. McCormick suffered massive burns all over his body and some internal bleeding. This caused him to go into hypovolemic shock, which is why his heart stopped. The doctors have him stabilized now and they are going to operate on him to try to stop the bleeding, but there's a strong chance that he may not survive the operation."
Hardcastle's face turned white as he continued to listen.
"Mr. McCormick has about a fifty percent chance of survival. I'm very sorry."
Milt just stared at the nurse, trying to take in the information given to him about McCormick's condition. Once the grim news had registered, he buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. The nurse quickly took the judge into her arms and slowly walked him over to a chair to sit down. "There, Mr. Hardcastle," the nurse said as she wiped the tears from his face, "I know how you must be feeling, but I can assure you that the doctors will take good care of him. And before you know it, you will be able to see your friend again. I'll have an orderly show you where the surgical waiting room is, all right?"
"Thank you, miss." Hardcastle smiled gratefully as the nurse got up to go back to her duties.
Chapter 10
It had been five hours since McCormick was taken into surgery. Hardcastle had fallen asleep in his chair and was nudged awake by a man wearing green scrubs. "Mr. Hardcastle? I'm Doctor Peters. I'm the one who operated on Mr. McCormick."
"How is he, doctor?" Hardcastle had the look of a man who had aged ten years in the last few hours.
"We managed to stop the bleeding. His lungs and his heart were affected, but not damaged badly, which made the surgery a little easier." The doctor continued. "He's breathing on his own, so we didn't keep the intubation tube in, but we'll have one at the bedside in the ICU if needed. He'll get oxygen through the face mask. Mr. McCormick's on cardiac life support now—IV fluids and medicines-- to restore his blood loss and keep his heart rate and blood pressure stable. Overall, he's listed as 'critical'. The next twenty-four hours are important. If he wakes up, then his chances are good that he'll pull through."
"And if he doesn't?" Hardcastle asked, not wanting to hear what the doctor was about to tell him.
"Let's just say...that you might want to prepare for the worst, Mr. Hardcastle," Peters answered honestly.
"Can I see him now?"
"Yes, but only for a few moments. Then I want you to go home and get some rest. You don't look well, and I don't want to have to hospitalize you too."
"I'm not leaving until he wakes up," Hardcastle stated flatly. "I want to be here for him regardless of what happens to him. Do you understand?" The judge looked at the other man with desperation, pleading with him. No matter if McCormick lived or died, Hardcastle wanted to be in the room with him. He owed the kid that much--to not leave him alone when he was hurt and lost.
The surgeon looked at the jurist's intense expression and decided not to argue. They walked into the ICU and Hardcastle froze as he saw the tubes and machines hooked up to Mark's lifeless looking body. McCormick was covered in bandages. Dr. Peters walked over to the machines to monitor his progress.
"His pulse, blood pressure and breathing appear to be within normal limits. Everything so far looks like it's good. I'll be by later to check again. The nurses are here if you need something."
Hardcastle was still focused on McCormick and didn't even hear the doctor speak or notice when he left the room. He walked over to the chair and sat down by Mark's side. Grabbing the kid's hand, he squeezed it tightly and kept his eyes on the still face.
"Come on, kiddo," he begged. "Wake up. Talk to me." He glared unhappily at the machines that were attached to Mark's body, beeping and humming as they kept him alive. "You don't need these things in you. You're stronger than that. Come on, son, wake up. Please?" But silence was his only answer.
00000
Lt. Giles arrived at the hospital the next morning to check up on McCormick's condition. From all the machines, bandages, and the look on Hardcastle's face, he was concerned that things weren't looking good for the ex-con.
"Milt, is everything okay?" he asked Hardcastle softly.
"The doctors say that the next twenty-four hours are critical. They have him on a life-support system right now," the judge replied. "What did you find out at the station?"
"Reisemann confessed to kidnapping Mark," Giles reported. "He then gave me the details on what happened during Mark's kidnapping, including his torturing McCormick with a cattle-prod."
Hardcastle's stomach began to turn with nausea, then filled with rage. "Mark didn't know anything, Bill. And that bastard still did this to him. I want that man's head on a stick." Hardcastle fought hard to hide the explosive anger and hate he felt for the German commander.
"Don't worry, Milt. Reisemann will pay for what he did to Mark." Giles affirmed.
After the lieutenant left, Hardcastle recounted Giles' report over and over in his mind as he tried to imagine the torture McCormick had faced. Grief and guilt flooded his soul as he felt the kid's pain. He rested his head on McCormick's hand as he held it tightly, and began to pray. After awhile, he fell asleep.
Chapter 11
Several hours later, Hardcastle was still asleep with his head rested on McCormick's bed. Feeling a hand gently stroke his hair, the judge slowly woke up and blinked his eyes into focus, seeing a friendly face smiling back at him.
"I was wondering when you would wake up." Mark smiled weakly as he stared at Hardcastle.
Hardcastle rubbed his eyes, not believing what he saw. McCormick was awake and alive! The judge became ecstatic as he quickly jumped up to hug the young man and then got up and ran out of the room to grab a doctor.
McCormick just lay in his bed grinning while he listened to the judge outside of his room shouting with joy to the medical staff.
"The doctors will be here in a few moments to check on you," Hardcastle said as he rushed back into the room out of breath. He seized Mark's hand in a firm grasp, a big smile showing his relief and happiness.
"Ouch!" McCormick shrieked, "Not so tight!".
"Sorry, I don't know what came over me." Hardcastle sheepishly grinned as he let go of his young Tonto. "How do you feel?"
"Like my insides have been torn out," McCormick replied weakly, holding his stomach and chest. "What happened to me, Judge?"
Before Hardcastle could answer him, Doctor Peters and a nurse walked in the room. "Well, Mr. McCormick, how are you feeling?" he asked as he began to check him over.
"Sorta achy all over, doc—and these bandages are itchy," McCormick complained as he started picking at them.
"You experienced some major burns all over your body. I'm afraid you'll have to keep them on for a while until they've healed, which should be in about two weeks." The doctor finished examining McCormick. "You appear to be fine. There are no signs of internal or external bleeding. Your heart rate and blood pressure are almost normal. I think we can change your oxygen over to a nasal cannula so you'll be a little more comfortable." He smiled. "Overall, Mr. McCormick, I would say that you're going to be fine. You should be able to go home in a few weeks."
"Thanks, doc," McCormick smiled while Hardcastle looked on in relief. The nurse set up the new oxygen tubing, then after she and the surgeon had left the room, Mark immediately turned his head to the judge to finish their conversation.
"What?" Hardcastle asked while McCormick glared at him.
"You were about to tell me what happened?"
"You don't remember?" Hardcastle asked ,surprised.
"Well, I remember getting kidnapped by the Nazis, and then I was taken into this room where this old man named Reisemann…" McCormick suddenly turned white as he started to recall "...he….tortured me with a cattle prod !..and then the next thing I remember is waking up here!"
Hardcastle witnessed the horror on McCormick's face and walked over to him, wrapping his arms around the young man in an attempt to calm him. Mark broke down in tears, shaking uncontrollably over the memories of the physical and mental trauma he had faced.
"I know, son. I'm sorry," Hardcastle replied, patting Mark's back.
After a few minutes, McCormick calmed his nerves enough to allow Hardcastle to let go of him. "Thanks, Judge," Suddenly Mark looked strangely at the jurist, his eyes slightly unfocused as if he was trying to recall something.
"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" Milt asked.
"Did I hear the Doctor correctly just earlier? What's this about internal bleeding and heart rates? I take it that my adventure was more serious than a few burns." McCormick suddenly put the pieces together about the real reason for his being at the hospital.
"Yes, you heard right." Hardcastle confirmed uneasily, not really wanting to tell the gory details to the kid but knowing he deserved the truth. "Well, after you went through all...that..." he waved his hand vaguely to indicate the torture, "...it seems that while you were in a groggy state you told Reisemann and his men about me, and where to find me, so they brought you back to the house, and tried to get me to turn over some gold that they buried a long time ago. You see, that's why they kidnapped you, and that's why the beach was dug up. There was gold buried on the beach."
Mark couldn't believe what he heard. Gold? The Nazis buried gold and were reclaiming it? And they thought that he was the one who stole it? "So who took the gold? Did the Nazis ever find it?"
"Yes they did," Hardcastle answered. "A man named Maxwell ended up with it. I was told he worked for the Civil Defense unit back during the war when some of the Nazis were found invading the coast. I questioned him about it, but he acted suspicious and denied knowledge of the event. He later came to the house because he thought I was after the gold. But he knew nothing about your disappearance." He took a breath, then finished, "That's about the point when Reisemann and his men came to the house, dragging you along. I told them about Maxwell having the treasure, and they took him and left me to tend to you."
"Then what happened?" McCormick asked, sounding more curious about the case than his own life.
"Lt. Giles and his unit waited outside the house until Reisemann made his move and then they arrested them all, including Maxwell. After that, we called the ambulance to come and look after you. You weren't looking too good by the time they arrived. And then…"
"Go on, Judge. It's okay. I can handle it." Mark said as he noticed Hardcastle hesitating.
"And then," the jurist continued grimly, "your heart suddenly stopped. We almost lost you a few times on the way to the hospital. The doctor said you suffered internal bleeding, and had to operate on you."
McCormick stared blankly at Hardcastle. He was surprised to hear he almost died—right now he was feeling pretty good. Nevertheless, he could tell from the tense look on Hardcastle's face now that this whole situation was pretty serious and shouldn't be taken lightly.
"What's going to happen to Reisemann and his men? And what about Maxwell?" Mark asked as he tried to steer the subject away from his condition.
"Lt. Giles came by earlier to tell me that Reisemann was charged with kidnapping, assault and battery, and attempted murder. I don't think you'll have to worry about him ever again. And Maxwell? Well, he'll be going to jail for stealing the gold—not to mention trespassing and property damage."
"That's great, judge," McCormick quietly said as he looked at the judge with relief.
"Well, if I hadn't resisted this whole business about the beach going public, you wouldn't even be in this mess." Hardcastle said somberly, feeling guilty over putting Mark in harm's way.
"Judge, you can't blame yourself for what happened," McCormick assured him. "The issue with the beach had nothing to do with all this mayhem about lost treasure and Nazis in California."
"Yeah, but if I didn't make you watch over the beach-- if you hadn't got up so early to keep those kids away, none of this would have happened, all right?" Hardcastle shouted defensively.
"Please, Judge, don't think about that," Mark pleaded. "I'm fine now, and there's nothing to worry about. I'm going to go home in a few weeks and everything will be the way it was before all of this."
"Yeah, but you almost died, don't you understand !?" Hardcastle looked away from the young man as he poured his heart out over the emotional pain he felt. McCormick listened to him quietly, then replied "Judge, I don't blame you for what happened--honest. The only person to blame is Reisemann, and he's in jail. I'm gonna be okay, the bad guys are all rounded up, and it's all over—so don't worry!"
Hardcastle was touched at the kid's faith in him and the reaffirming of their friendship. "Thanks, kiddo," he said quietly.
"Any time," replied McCormick with a grin. "Now, you old donkey, turn on that television and see if there isn't a John Wayne movie for us to watch."
As Mark sat up in the bed, Hardcastle grabbed the remote control and turned the television on. Flipping through a couple of stations, they found True Grit playing on a Classic Westerns station..
"There, see?" McCormick chuckled. "Our luck is changing for the better."
"Now all we need is popcorn," Hardcastle commented with a smile, leaning back happily in his chair.
Chapter 12
After three long weeks in the hospital, Mark got his discharge papers. It seemed like it had been months since he'd seen the Gull's Way, and he couldn't wait to get home. His head wounds had healed, but he still wore bandages on some of his torso wounds and had been ordered by the surgeon to continue bed rest at home for awhile to allow them to heal.
"Easy, now, you don't want to strain yourself," Hardcastle said as he parked the truck in the back driveway
"I'm fine, Judge," McCormick said as he started walking toward the house. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and turned toward the judge.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" asked Hardcastle, puzzled. "Do you feel any pain?"
Mark shook his head. "It's just...I'd like to go to the beach and watch the waves if that's all right."
"Okay, if you want," Hardcastle said curiously as he carefully helped McCormick down to the beach path. "Are you sure you're prepared for all those kids and noise down there?"
"I'm sure, Judge," McCormick answered.
As they arrived at the beach, they noticed it was still dug up from Maxwell's treasure hunt. Looking around, they were surprised to see it was empty. There were no kids anywhere. No surf boards or beach blankets to have to walk around; no trash or blaring radios. The two men had the beach to themselves. Mark pulled away from Hardcastle's support and walked over to one of the excavated pits. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and started to shake uncontrollably. The judge quickly ran to McCormick's side to help calm him.
"Are you okay, kiddo?" Hardcastle asked as he held McCormick, who was still shaking. "What were you thinking, coming out here, huh?"
"I'm okay now, Judge," Mark said as he slowly got up.
"Well, you don't look okay. Why did you want to do this?"
"I don't know, Judge," McCormick replied sounding confused and disoriented. "I just wanted to see the beach again. I missed it, and I wanted to watch the waves. Is that such a crime?"
"No, it's not a crime. You can go to the beach whenever you want. I was just curious as to why you wanted to come down here so soon after, well, you know?" The jurist knew McCormick was lying about his reasons. 'Missing the waves' was a lame way to say he needed to face the demons Reisemann had tormented him with. But the kid shouldn't have to go through that again, Hardcastle thought. Like he'd said, it was 'over'. They needed to go on—not look back.
"What?" McCormick interrupted, "you mean after what happened to me, you mean? Look, it was a mistake to come down here. Can we just go back?"
"Sure," said Hardcastle.
McCormick didn't say much on their way back up the hill. He slowly walked into the Gatehouse and locked the door behind him, leaving Hardcastle outside. He didn't mean to leave the Judge like that without saying anything, but he needed to think about the last few minutes and how it reminded him of the trauma he'd faced. He had hoped that the beach would help him deal with what had happened to him and to help him talk to Hardcastle about it, but his plan failed. Instead, it had only made him sick and tired. He didn't even have the strength to walk up the stairs to his bed, so he plopped himself on the couch and fell asleep.
Later that evening, Hardcastle went over to the Gatehouse to check up on McCormick, but the door was still locked. He knocked on the door several times, but there was no response. It was just as well, he thought. McCormick was probably exhausted over what happened earlier, and if he wanted to talk about it he would have by now.
Going back to the den to review some files he was planning to work on after McCormick completely recovered, Hardcastle saw the police report from McCormick's kidnapping on the top of his desk. It had been sitting there for weeks, but he'd never had the nerve to read it until now. After what happened at the beach earlier today, he thought it would be a good idea to prepare for any flashbacks or violent emotions McCormick might experience in the days and weeks ahead. He stared at it for a few seconds before he picked it up.
While reading through the report, Hardcastle felt himself getting angrier at the very graphic details about McCormick's interrogation and the torture he endured for those several hours he was held captive by Reisemann. What surprised him was how McCormick survived that ordeal. Any other man and it would have been a certain death. As he finished, his anger turned to sadness over his best friend. He put the file away in the back of his drawer, planning to never read it again, and headed upstairs to bed.
Chapter 13
The next morning Hardcastle made another attempt to talk to McCormick. He thought it would be easier to wrestle with a rattlesnake, but he figured he would at least give it another try. He knocked on the door of the Gatehouse, but there was no answer. Trying the doorknob, he was surprised to find it was unlocked.
"McCormick", he called, walking in. "McCormick, are you in here?"
Hardcastle looked around the Gatehouse and noticed Mark wasn't there. He then walked to the patio area by the pool to see if the kid was lounging on one of the sun chairs, but found nothing. The judge began to grow a little concerned as he continued his search for his young friend. After several minutes, he suddenly came to the conclusion that McCormick must be down at the beach again. Hardcastle hurried down there and felt relieved when he found Mark throwing stones into the waves.
"How long have you been out here?" the jurist asked.
McCormick stood quiet for several minutes before he answered Hardcastle. "I'm not sure." He threw another rock into the surf. "I came out here as soon as I woke up, and I must have lost track of the time. Is there a problem?"
"No, no problem at all." Hardcastle answered as he noticed the sad look on the young man's face. "I just wondered how long you were out here. Isn't it okay for me to ask?"
"Sure, it's okay. It's your beach, after all." The judge noticed a sudden harshness in Mark's tone as he answered, as if he was blaming Hardcastle for all that had happened to him. Was this the time to let it all out in the open? Milt thought. Or should he just let McCormick get all of his frustrations out by himself before they had their talk?
"McCormick?" Hardcastle decided to broach the subject. "Did you want to talk about it?"
"About what, Judge? " Mark asked, pretending to not know where this conversation was headed.
"C'mon, kiddo, you know what! About that day when…well… you know, when you were captured." Hardcastle tried to be delicate over the situation, but he couldn't find another way to approach it.
"Listen," he continued. "I read the police report of Reisemann's statement, and even though I have never been through that kind of thing myself, I can see how this has affected you. I'm here if you need to talk to someone. I always have been."
McCormick couldn't believe what he heard, and at the same time was touched by the Judge's kind words. He stared at Hardcastle with the feeling that for the first time he was safe from any danger that was coming to him, and that the judge would always be there for him. This feeling suddenly generated a violent warm emotion throughout his body, but he managed to keep his composure.
"I couldn't stop it," McCormick began. He looked at the waves; purposefully avoiding any eye contact with Hardcastle would help make it easier for him to get the story told. "I tried to do everything to get them to listen to me, but that bastard kept torturing me with that freaking thing whenever I couldn't give him the information he wanted. I had never felt so scared in my life." Mark continued to fight back the emotions as he spoke. "You know, a few weeks ago I was fine. I thought that I could handle the reality of being kidnapped, tortured and almost killed. I survived it, and I'm at home safe. But yesterday it came back to me all of a sudden that it was more than just a kidnapping."
"What do you mean?" Hardcastle asked. He was curious as to where this conversation was going.
"I know this sounds stupid, but," McCormick paused for a moment and then continued, "I felt humiliated."
"What? Humiliated about what?" the judge demanded. "About getting kidnapped? What could you have done to prevent it? Those goons had machine guns that were ready to shoot you with if you didn't obey their commands. Did you honestly think you could have walked away from that alive? No!" Hardcastle shouted, trying to reassure McCormick that it had been all out of his control and there was no way to prevent what happened. "The only thing I can say about all of this is I wonder why you didn't tell them about me sooner. Then they would have gone after me and you would have gotten away unharmed."
"Are you kidding, Judge? And get both of us killed? I would never do that to you, ever!" Mark stared at Hardcastle in disbelief at the thought that he would use the judge as bait to get out of the trouble he was in. He felt deep gratitude of the judge's stated willingness to trade places with him, but he also felt strongly protective of the older man and had vowed long before to ensure his safety and happiness. "Judge, I know you were worried about me, and I appreciate that, but it wouldn't have done any good to either of us to consider that option. Besides, how did I know you had figured the whole thing out and were prepared for their arrest?"
"It's just something about you, kiddo. I can fully understand the not finding you where I told you to be and the mess left on the beach—that's typical, but I knew you were in trouble when I saw all those deep holes. You would never be that energetic with your chores!" Hardcastle grinned. "Besides, crooks around here don't usually use fifty year old guns and wear Gestapo armbands!"
"Okay, point taken," said McCormick, smiling. "Hey, I'm hungry. What d'ya say we go back to the house for some breakfast?"
"Okay, I'm up for that," Milt replied as they both headed for the main house. Suddenly Mark grabbed Hardcastle's arm to stop him.
"Thanks, Judge."
"For what?"
"For listening earlier, and for being a good friend and allowing me to talk about it." McCormick replied. He continued on up the path, as the jurist looked affectionately at his young friend.
"Anytime, kiddo," Hardcastle murmured to himself as he started following the young man. "Anytime."
THE END