Chapter One
Seventeen-year-old Frank Hardy jumped as the ringing of the front door bell shattered the quiet of the Hardy home. Hurrying to the door and pulling it open, he glanced anxiously to the top of the stairs to see if the noise had disturbed his mother. When the slim form of Laura Hardy never materialized, he sighed with relief and turned to find Sam Radley standing on the porch.
"Sam, come in," he whispered, gesturing the man in.
The tall, sandy-haired detective stepped into the hall as Frank gave another nervous glance upstairs. The teenager was obviously on edge and Sam noted the pale, drawn face and dark shadows under his eyes with concern.
Frank put a finger to his lip as he quietly closed the front door, then pointed to the living room. Sam nodded and followed him in there, closing the door behind him as he entered.
"Where's Laura?"
"In bed. Dr. Bates made a house call and gave her some sort of sedative." Frank ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't think her nerves are holding up very well."
Sam winced. His news was not going to improve the situation. "What about Joe?"
"He went for a run; he's going stir-crazy in the house. Sam, please tell me you have news?"
The detective sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frank. I tapped every source I had in the bureau but no one seems to know anything. It's like Fenton made the whole thing up."
Frank sank onto the couch. "Dad wouldn't lie, someone hired him!"
"I know, Frank. But the problem is Fenton never told us who, which means the FBI can deny calling him in and we don't have any proof that they did."
"But someone has to know something!"
"Oh, someone does," Sam replied grimly. "They just don't seem to be talking."
Frank stared up at the detective, despair evident on his face. "So how do we find out? It's been almost three weeks since we heard from Dad. He would never leave us hanging like this, Sam, you know he wouldn't!" Frank's face changed from desperation to uncertainty. "Would he?"
"No, he wouldn't!" said Sam, vehemently.
Slumping, Frank rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and asked, "What do we do next?"
The detective sat on the couch next to Frank. "There is something that occurred to me on my way back from Washington. I could be wrong, but if I'm right then it might give us something to work with."
"What is it?" demanded Frank, staring intently at the detective.
"I'm pretty sure none of my contacts lied about Fenton working with the FBI, but Fenton wouldn't lie either. And he's not stupid; he wouldn't have taken a deep undercover case like this without knowing that the person who hired him was genuine. Frank, I think that whoever hired him was probably pretty high up the chain of command."
"Which makes whatever he was hired to do highly classified and also explains why Dad was so secretive about it." Frank paused and frowned. "But if it's that classified, why hire someone from outside the FBI? That just doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't," Sam agreed. "But it does explain why none of my contacts knew Fenton had been hired."
"Okay, but how does that help us?"
"The FBI invented bureaucracy and I bet that whatever Fenton was hired for, there's a file on it."
"So?"
"So, I get one of my contacts to dig around and find it."
Frank looked incredulous. "Sam, this is the FBI we're talking about! No one is going to hand you something that classified."
"We'll see about that. Someone in the FBI owes me a very big favour and I think it's about time I called it in."
"But what if there is no file? Or what if there is and this contact of yours can't get his hands on it? If Dad really is missing then I can't just sit here and wait for the FBI to find him! Dad's not FBI…how do we know they'd even try to help him?"
"They wouldn't leave a field operative missing," said Sam quietly. "Even if he's not FBI."
"That doesn't make me feel any better."
"I know. I'm sorry, Frank; I wish I had more to tell you."
The dark-haired Hardy boy exhaled loudly through his teeth, frustration etched on his face. "How long will it take this contact of yours to access the file?"
"You know I can't answer that. Frank, I know you want answers and I understand that this is hard, but we're just going to have to sit tight until we get more information."
"I know, I know. I just hate this limbo! Not knowing where Dad is or if he's okay, it's just…" his voice tailed off and he shrugged.
Sam gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Look, as soon as I get home, how about I call my contact? That should get things moving faster and if I call him at home, no one in the FBI will know that we're trying to access this information − whatever it is − and burying it any deeper."
"Good idea."
"I learned from the best," said Sam, yawning. "S-o-o-oorry, Frank. It's been a long few days and I'm really beat."
"I guess there's nothing else we can do for now," Frank told him reluctantly. "Why don't you head home and get some rest?"
"Think I will," said Sam and yawned again. "You know where to find me if anything comes up."
"I do. And thanks, Sam, for everything."
Sam smiled as he stood up. "Don't mention it, kiddo. I'll see myself out. See you tomorrow, Frank."
"Bye, Sam."
Frank listened until the front door closed before getting up and starting to pace around the living room. He knew he needed to relax but he couldn't. Ever since Fenton's last phone call he'd been perpetually on edge; like a wind-up doll. His body felt stiff from the constant strain. It didn't help that the whole family was so uneasy about the missing detective; Fenton had never remained undercover for this long without contacting them. Although they hadn't voiced it, the entire Hardy family was starting to fear the worst.
"Frank?" he heard his brother's voice call suddenly.
"Shhhhh!" he hissed, pulling open the living room door to reveal Joe in the hallway removing his running shoes.
Joe cringed as he glanced up the stairs. "Sorry," he mouthed. "Forgot." Straightening up, the blond boy jerked his head towards the kitchen before padding in that direction.
Frank followed after his brother, eager to tell him what he and Sam had discussed. As the older boy closed the kitchen door behind him, Joe headed straight for the refrigerator and removed a carton of juice. "Did I just see Sam's car pulling out?" he asked, opening the cupboard to get a glass.
Frank nodded, sitting down at the table.
Joe looked hopeful. "Did he get anything from his contacts at the FBI?"
Frank shook his head. "Nothing. According to them, there's no record of Dad working with the FBI."
Joe sat into the chair opposite Frank with a loud thud. "Well, that's a big fat lie!" he cried indignantly.
"Joe, shhhhhh! Don't wake Mom."
The blond boy lowered his voice. "Frank, Dad was hired by the FBI to do some stupid undercover operation; he left here over a month ago and we haven't seen him since! How can the FBI lie about that?"
"Sam doesn't think they are…well his contacts aren't at least. Listen."
While Joe poured and drank his juice, Frank repeated everything that he and Sam had discussed. When he was finished, Joe looked troubled. "Frank, I don't like this. Just how dangerous was this undercover gig?"
Frank shook his head. He had been wondering the same thing.
"And even if it does exist," Joe continued, "what if Sam's contact can't get this classified file? Do we wait for the FBI to find Dad or for him to contact us?"
"I don't know, Joe."
Both boys stared at one another in agitated silence across the table. Neither one of them had much faith in the FBI to find their father since they had hired him to do a job they apparently couldn't in the first place.
"What do we tell Mom?" Joe wanted to know.
"Nothing. She doesn't know that Sam went to Washington; she doesn't need to know what he didn't find out.
"We lie to her−"
"No! We just don't tell her."
Joe stared at his brother unhappily. "That feels like lying to me."
"It's not lying, Joe," said Frank wearily. "But does Mom seem in any shape to be hearing that Dad was sent on some super classified mission by the FBI and now that's he's MIA, they're denying they hired him?"
"I guess not."
"We say nothing until we know more. It sucks, Joe but that's all we can do right now."
"I hate waiting."
"I don't like it either but what choice do we have? Sam's right, we haven't even the slightest hint of something to investigate. Until he gets this file, we just have to sit tight."
"What if he doesn't get it?"
"We just have to hope he does."
Joe stared at him. He knew his brother was right but that didn't mean he had to like it. Finally, he sighed in frustration. "I'm going to take a shower."
Frank nodded and waited until his younger brother was out of the kitchen before slumping over the table with his head in his hands. Wherever his father was, Frank hoped he was okay. And if he was okay, Frank hoped he had a damned good reason for putting them all through this, especially after his last phone call.
The dark-haired teenager thought back to the afternoon almost three weeks ago when this had all started. It had been blisteringly hot and muggy; the air so stale and suffocating that not even the hum of insects hung in the air. Chet, Iola and Callie had called over and the five teenagers had been sitting on the back porch drinking some of Aunt Gertrude's homemade iced-tea. It was too hot to do anything else.
Then the phone rang.
"Not getting it!" Joe had cried quickly from where he was lying on the porch swing, his legs thrown over Iola's.
Grumbling and reluctant, Frank had pulled himself up from the wicker chair beside Callie and headed back into the cool of the house. He was almost at the hall door when he heard a voice say, "hello?"
Mom's back, Frank realized. He turned to head back out to the porch when he heard panic in his mother's voice.
"What do you mean? Fenton, what's going on?"
Hurrying through the door to the hall, Frank's first view had been of his mother's frightened face, the phone clutched tightly to her ear with both hands. "Fenton, I don't understand, why can't you…Fenton, you're scaring me!"
Frank snatched the receiver from his mother's hands. "Dad!" he had practically shouted into the mouthpiece.
"Frank!" his father's voice had sounded slightly higher than its usual deep calm. "Frank, I need you to listen to me very carefully."
"Dad, what's going on?"
"Frank, just listen. I don't have much time! I'm fine but I won't be able to contact you for a while. They rarely leave me on my own which makes it makes it hard to make calls. Besides, I think it's best that they can't trace my family back through me."
"Dad, what−"
"FRANK, just listen. You won't hear from me again for a while but I will try to send someone to you. He's going to need your help, Frank, so you help him, do you hear?"
"Yes, but−"
"Someone's coming!"
The next thing Frank knew, he was staring at the phone and listening to the soft hum of a dial tone.
"Frank, what was that about?" his mother's voice was low and tight with fear.
The boy had stared helplessly back at her. "I have no idea."
Frank inhaled sharply coming back to the present in the kitchen. He had been through that scene so many times in his head and it still unsettled him every bit as much as it had the first time. His father had sounded so urgent on the phone. Frank knew he had been trying to hide it, but he could still hear the stress in Fenton's voice. He didn't know what unnerved him more; the fact that his father was so agitated while undercover, or the fact that he'd tried to hide it from him.
And why couldn't he contact them? Fenton had never been in so deep before that he couldn't contact them…not to mention that the service provider for his phone was now telling them the number didn't exist. Nor was there any sign of this stranger his father had mentioned. It made Frank sick with worry. What if his father had been caught? He kept hearing those last frantic words, "someone's coming" before the buzz of a dial tone rang in his ear. What if that someone had discovered Fenton on the phone? Overheard him somehow?
The dark-haired boy knew his father had told him that he wouldn't be in contact for a while but this was a lot longer than a while; it had been nearly three weeks. Frank wasn't normally one for gut instinct − that was more Joe's territory − he relied on cool, rational thinking. But right now his gut was screaming out with fear and worry. Frank had a terrible feeling that his father was in grave danger.
xxx
It was dark when Frank woke from a dream in which he was chasing his father through a dark and never-ending corridor lined with doors when Joe appeared in a white sheet and pointed a bloody finger accusingly at Frank. Frank had tried to tell his brother that he was chasing their father when Joe melted in a haze of smoke leaving a wraith in his place that flew at Frank and tried to gouge his eyes out. Heart thumping against his ribcage, Frank awoke with a start. Disoriented, he stared up at the inky black ceiling trying to shake the feeling of foreboding that the dream had left him with. It's just a dream, the dark-haired teenager tried to reassure himself, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart.
A flicker of light flashed at the corner of his eye and Frank scrambled out of bed, instantly awake. What was that?
The light flashed again and Frank realized it was coming from outside. Hurrying to the window and peering out, he froze as he saw the flicker of a flashlight in the backyard.
Someone was trying to break in.