"You just don't get it, do you?" blond headed Joe Hardy demanded angrily his blue eyes flashing sparks.
"Oh, I get it!" countered eighteen year old Frank Hardy. It was times like these when he had the crazy notion his brother was more than a year younger than himself. How anyone could be so bull-headed was beyond him!
At seventeen, Joe had endured more than most people twice his age. He had watched his childhood sweetheart die in a terrorist bombing; been kidnapped; brainwashed; tortured; and hospitalized more times than he cared to remember and here his brother was telling him he was too young and inexperienced to attend a survival training camp sponsored by the Network, a secret agency which handled terrorist activity concerning the free world.
"You're not going and that's final!" Frank ended the discussion, staring stonily at Joe with his brown eyes.
"Why not?" demanded Joe, not giving up. Frank wasn't his father and that argument would get him nowhere. "You're going."
Frank ran a hand tiredly through his brown hair and turned on his heel. He had told Joe every reason he could think of why he could not go. Every reason but one, he conceded silently. He straightened his six foot one frame and walked out of Joe's bedroom, through the connecting bathroom and into his own room, closing the door behind him. How could he tell Joe the real reason he didn't want Joe to go to the special camp was because it was a trap.
Their contact in the Network had let slip that the training session would be very real. Joe hadn't caught the slippage, but Frank had. And when Joe had gone down to check out some new devices which had been invented to help in the war against terrorism, Frank had cornered the Gray Man, a man who dressed unobtrusively in gray to blend in with his surroundings, and demanded the truth.
It had taken a bit of "persuasion", an act that Frank normally abhorred but when his brother's life was at stake, he was not above committing. The camp's location and occupants had been purposefully "leaked" to the enemy.
After the brutality and extreme loss of life in a terrorist attack the previous year against Americans at an embassy in France, the president had ordered the leader of the Assassin's brought down...at any cost.
"You're sending all these men to their deaths?" Frank had demanded, more in outrage than shock. He knew from working odd jobs for the Network that sacrificing lives for what was considered the greater good was an acceptable loss.
"Our agents know this could be a suicide mission," the Gray Man defended himself.
"But you weren't going to tell us," Frank pushed.
"Our source said the only thing that would induce the leader to put in an appearance would be the presence of you and Joe," came the startling revelation.
"Why?" demanded Frank, backing the Gray Man into a corner, literally.
"Word is out that all captured Assassins are a direct result of you and your brother," the Gray Man answered. "That right hook of Joe's is the reason we were able to capture Assassin's alive and question them."
"So, Joe's really the bait," Frank accused in disgust.
"No," the Gray Man denied. "But he is the icing on the cake."
"No," Frank had said then.
"No? What do you mean 'No'?"
"I mean, Joe is not going. I'll go. They probably won't know one Hardy form the next," Frank continued. "But I will not let you use him as bait."
"And how will you prevent it? Knowing the truth won't keep him from attending," the Gray Man replied smugly.
"No, but Dad knowing the truth would," Frank countered, his brown eyes hard as they stared onto the Gray Man's pale ones.
"You won't tell him," the Gray Man responded a tad nervously. Fenton Hardy, formerly of the New York City Police Department and currently world renown private investigator had connections of which even the Gray man was envious.
"Think not?" Frank asked him seriously. "Before I'll let you use my brother as bait I will confess every mission Joe and I ever did for the agency to him."
The Gray Man stared Frank in the eyes, willing him to back down. Eyes hard as stone, Frank returned the look until the Gray Man's eyes fell. "Fine," the Gray Man snarled. "I'll tell Joe only those eighteen years of age and older will be allowed to participate."
Frank nodded his acquiesce and turned to leave. "One thing," Frank was halted before he reached the door. "What happens to Joe if you don't survive?"
The Gray Man's words echoed in Frank's head as he sat down on his bed. Joe had tried every argument Frank could have imagined and one or two he never would have thought of, to get Frank to help him sneak into the camp. His most convincing argument, had this not been a trap, had been the training could save his life at some point in time.
Keeping the truth from Joe was becoming harder with each passing day but Frank was determined Joe would never find out. Iola Morton, Joe's sixteen year old petite girlfriend, had been killed in a bombing at the Bayport Mall. The bomb had been planted in the Hardy's yellow convertible at the bequest of the Assassin's leader on an attempt to curb Fenton Hardy's activities.
Joe and Iola had gotten into a "tiff" and Iola had snatched Joe's car keys and stalked out of the mall and to the car with Joe in close pursuit. However, he had not reached her before the explosion. Frank closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks even as a wave of guilt washed over him.
He knew Joe didn't feel the same way but the fact remained; had Iola lived, Joe would have died. Joe lived with that guilt everyday. Frank did too, but his was the guilt of gratitude that Joe had lived instead of Iola. Maybe this will help ease the pain, baby brother, Frank thought, laying back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling.
Frank bit his bottom lip and winced as the sound of drawers slamming could be heard coming from Joe's room. Joe was lucky their mom and aunt had gone to the grocery store. Neither would have hesitated to let him know frustration and anger were not to be taken out on the furniture.
If he only knew, Frank thought. Nothing on earth could stop him from attending. Frank shuddered. Knowing Joe's propensity to act before thinking. Joe would be dead the first day or worse: captured and tortured. Both he and Joe were privy to high-level classified information. Heck! he thought. We even know who is in charge of the Network! A scary thought considering the people who knew could be counted on one's fingers.
Frank's bedroom door burst open and he looked over at his brother's six foot athletic frame fill the doorway. "Let's go," Joe said.
"Where to?" Frank asked, sitting up in puzzlement.
"We're meeting Vanessa and Callie in thirty minutes," Joe reminded him.
Frank's eyes widened as his mouth dropped open. "I forgot!" he gasped.
"Maybe you're too forgetful to go to the camp," Joe served up the cheap shot but was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. His blue eyes met Frank's brown ones in apology. "I guess I'm just jealous," he confessed. "You're right, as usual. If I sneaked in I might be mistaken for an enemy. It's just...why did the Gray Man have to tell us all about the camp knowing I wasn't going to be allowed to go because of my age?"
"He was telling me," Frank fibbed. No way would he ever tell Joe what had transpired after he had left the room! "You were just there with me."
"If you say so," Joe responded sourly, dropping his arm back to the doorknob. "Step on it," he added. "You know the girls hate it when we keep them waiting."
"Aren't we picking up Callie first?" Frank asked in surprise when Joe missed the turn to the Shaw's house.
"Callie and Vanessa went shopping earlier," Joe replied. "They just went back to Vanessa's afterward."
"And you know this how?" Frank asked, lifting a brow.
"By talking to Vanessa on the phone while you were busy deciding what to pack for the survival training camp," Joe answered, his tone a little off.
"I thought you realized I was right about your not going," Frank said, catching the bitterness.
"Just because you're right doesn't mean I have to like it," Joe pointed out. "I can't help the way I feel."
"Would you rather I didn't go either?" Frank demanded, mentally kicking himself for asking. What would he do if Joe said yes?
Joe thought it over, causing Frank several minutes of agony. Finally, Joe answered with a sigh. "No. At least one of us should have some fun."
"It's not going to be fun," Frank corrected him, but Joe wasn't buying it.
"Yeah, right," Joe said, rolling his eyes. "And being a detective is boring. Give me a break!" he exclaimed. "You're going to have so much fun."
"Well, at least you'll get to spend some time with Vanessa," Frank told him. "I won't get to see Callie for two whole weeks!"
"No, I won't," Joe said, frowning. "Vanessa is going to a cartoon convention in Japan with her mom. They're leaving the same day as you and won't be back until the first of August."
"That's a super-long convention considering it's only the first of July," commented Frank.
Joe shot him a sour look. "Mrs. Bender decided to spend some vacation time there," he informed Frank.
"So, you and Callie can hang out together," Frank suggested.
"Are you giving me permission to steal your girl?" Joe teased, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Don't get smart, Funny Boy," retorted Frank, clipping Joe lightly on the shoulder.
Joe chortled as he pulled the van to a stop in the Bender's drive. "Come on, brother mine," he said, opening his door. "Enjoy your last date with Callie."
Frank glanced over at Joe before opening his door. Would this be his last date with Callie? he wondered. As the time for his departure neared, he grew more nervous. The Gray man had deemed it a suicide mission. Perhaps, it is time to make out a will, Frank decided. Tonight before I go to bed.
"Oh, I get it!" countered eighteen year old Frank Hardy. It was times like these when he had the crazy notion his brother was more than a year younger than himself. How anyone could be so bull-headed was beyond him!
At seventeen, Joe had endured more than most people twice his age. He had watched his childhood sweetheart die in a terrorist bombing; been kidnapped; brainwashed; tortured; and hospitalized more times than he cared to remember and here his brother was telling him he was too young and inexperienced to attend a survival training camp sponsored by the Network, a secret agency which handled terrorist activity concerning the free world.
"You're not going and that's final!" Frank ended the discussion, staring stonily at Joe with his brown eyes.
"Why not?" demanded Joe, not giving up. Frank wasn't his father and that argument would get him nowhere. "You're going."
Frank ran a hand tiredly through his brown hair and turned on his heel. He had told Joe every reason he could think of why he could not go. Every reason but one, he conceded silently. He straightened his six foot one frame and walked out of Joe's bedroom, through the connecting bathroom and into his own room, closing the door behind him. How could he tell Joe the real reason he didn't want Joe to go to the special camp was because it was a trap.
Their contact in the Network had let slip that the training session would be very real. Joe hadn't caught the slippage, but Frank had. And when Joe had gone down to check out some new devices which had been invented to help in the war against terrorism, Frank had cornered the Gray Man, a man who dressed unobtrusively in gray to blend in with his surroundings, and demanded the truth.
It had taken a bit of "persuasion", an act that Frank normally abhorred but when his brother's life was at stake, he was not above committing. The camp's location and occupants had been purposefully "leaked" to the enemy.
After the brutality and extreme loss of life in a terrorist attack the previous year against Americans at an embassy in France, the president had ordered the leader of the Assassin's brought down...at any cost.
"You're sending all these men to their deaths?" Frank had demanded, more in outrage than shock. He knew from working odd jobs for the Network that sacrificing lives for what was considered the greater good was an acceptable loss.
"Our agents know this could be a suicide mission," the Gray Man defended himself.
"But you weren't going to tell us," Frank pushed.
"Our source said the only thing that would induce the leader to put in an appearance would be the presence of you and Joe," came the startling revelation.
"Why?" demanded Frank, backing the Gray Man into a corner, literally.
"Word is out that all captured Assassins are a direct result of you and your brother," the Gray Man answered. "That right hook of Joe's is the reason we were able to capture Assassin's alive and question them."
"So, Joe's really the bait," Frank accused in disgust.
"No," the Gray Man denied. "But he is the icing on the cake."
"No," Frank had said then.
"No? What do you mean 'No'?"
"I mean, Joe is not going. I'll go. They probably won't know one Hardy form the next," Frank continued. "But I will not let you use him as bait."
"And how will you prevent it? Knowing the truth won't keep him from attending," the Gray Man replied smugly.
"No, but Dad knowing the truth would," Frank countered, his brown eyes hard as they stared onto the Gray Man's pale ones.
"You won't tell him," the Gray Man responded a tad nervously. Fenton Hardy, formerly of the New York City Police Department and currently world renown private investigator had connections of which even the Gray man was envious.
"Think not?" Frank asked him seriously. "Before I'll let you use my brother as bait I will confess every mission Joe and I ever did for the agency to him."
The Gray Man stared Frank in the eyes, willing him to back down. Eyes hard as stone, Frank returned the look until the Gray Man's eyes fell. "Fine," the Gray Man snarled. "I'll tell Joe only those eighteen years of age and older will be allowed to participate."
Frank nodded his acquiesce and turned to leave. "One thing," Frank was halted before he reached the door. "What happens to Joe if you don't survive?"
The Gray Man's words echoed in Frank's head as he sat down on his bed. Joe had tried every argument Frank could have imagined and one or two he never would have thought of, to get Frank to help him sneak into the camp. His most convincing argument, had this not been a trap, had been the training could save his life at some point in time.
Keeping the truth from Joe was becoming harder with each passing day but Frank was determined Joe would never find out. Iola Morton, Joe's sixteen year old petite girlfriend, had been killed in a bombing at the Bayport Mall. The bomb had been planted in the Hardy's yellow convertible at the bequest of the Assassin's leader on an attempt to curb Fenton Hardy's activities.
Joe and Iola had gotten into a "tiff" and Iola had snatched Joe's car keys and stalked out of the mall and to the car with Joe in close pursuit. However, he had not reached her before the explosion. Frank closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks even as a wave of guilt washed over him.
He knew Joe didn't feel the same way but the fact remained; had Iola lived, Joe would have died. Joe lived with that guilt everyday. Frank did too, but his was the guilt of gratitude that Joe had lived instead of Iola. Maybe this will help ease the pain, baby brother, Frank thought, laying back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling.
Frank bit his bottom lip and winced as the sound of drawers slamming could be heard coming from Joe's room. Joe was lucky their mom and aunt had gone to the grocery store. Neither would have hesitated to let him know frustration and anger were not to be taken out on the furniture.
If he only knew, Frank thought. Nothing on earth could stop him from attending. Frank shuddered. Knowing Joe's propensity to act before thinking. Joe would be dead the first day or worse: captured and tortured. Both he and Joe were privy to high-level classified information. Heck! he thought. We even know who is in charge of the Network! A scary thought considering the people who knew could be counted on one's fingers.
Frank's bedroom door burst open and he looked over at his brother's six foot athletic frame fill the doorway. "Let's go," Joe said.
"Where to?" Frank asked, sitting up in puzzlement.
"We're meeting Vanessa and Callie in thirty minutes," Joe reminded him.
Frank's eyes widened as his mouth dropped open. "I forgot!" he gasped.
"Maybe you're too forgetful to go to the camp," Joe served up the cheap shot but was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. His blue eyes met Frank's brown ones in apology. "I guess I'm just jealous," he confessed. "You're right, as usual. If I sneaked in I might be mistaken for an enemy. It's just...why did the Gray Man have to tell us all about the camp knowing I wasn't going to be allowed to go because of my age?"
"He was telling me," Frank fibbed. No way would he ever tell Joe what had transpired after he had left the room! "You were just there with me."
"If you say so," Joe responded sourly, dropping his arm back to the doorknob. "Step on it," he added. "You know the girls hate it when we keep them waiting."
"Aren't we picking up Callie first?" Frank asked in surprise when Joe missed the turn to the Shaw's house.
"Callie and Vanessa went shopping earlier," Joe replied. "They just went back to Vanessa's afterward."
"And you know this how?" Frank asked, lifting a brow.
"By talking to Vanessa on the phone while you were busy deciding what to pack for the survival training camp," Joe answered, his tone a little off.
"I thought you realized I was right about your not going," Frank said, catching the bitterness.
"Just because you're right doesn't mean I have to like it," Joe pointed out. "I can't help the way I feel."
"Would you rather I didn't go either?" Frank demanded, mentally kicking himself for asking. What would he do if Joe said yes?
Joe thought it over, causing Frank several minutes of agony. Finally, Joe answered with a sigh. "No. At least one of us should have some fun."
"It's not going to be fun," Frank corrected him, but Joe wasn't buying it.
"Yeah, right," Joe said, rolling his eyes. "And being a detective is boring. Give me a break!" he exclaimed. "You're going to have so much fun."
"Well, at least you'll get to spend some time with Vanessa," Frank told him. "I won't get to see Callie for two whole weeks!"
"No, I won't," Joe said, frowning. "Vanessa is going to a cartoon convention in Japan with her mom. They're leaving the same day as you and won't be back until the first of August."
"That's a super-long convention considering it's only the first of July," commented Frank.
Joe shot him a sour look. "Mrs. Bender decided to spend some vacation time there," he informed Frank.
"So, you and Callie can hang out together," Frank suggested.
"Are you giving me permission to steal your girl?" Joe teased, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Don't get smart, Funny Boy," retorted Frank, clipping Joe lightly on the shoulder.
Joe chortled as he pulled the van to a stop in the Bender's drive. "Come on, brother mine," he said, opening his door. "Enjoy your last date with Callie."
Frank glanced over at Joe before opening his door. Would this be his last date with Callie? he wondered. As the time for his departure neared, he grew more nervous. The Gray man had deemed it a suicide mission. Perhaps, it is time to make out a will, Frank decided. Tonight before I go to bed.