Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the book characters.I do have some OCs though that are mine.
Rating/Setting: Rating is T. Setting is close to blue-spine. Frank is 17, Joe is 16.
Author's Notes: Frank & Joe chapter. Also, I am not an FBI expert. I have watched the X-Files and I have stayed at a Holiday Inn Express, however, neither make me an expert. So take the FBI's actions with a grain of salt in my Hardy-universe. However, note that DNA does take a long time to process, so the time-frame discussed in this story isn't far off the mark.
* And OK, I really meant to wait until Wed. to post, but I couldn't wait any longer. My will power isn't high right now. ;-)
Chapter Nine
In just four hours, a search area had been created and checked with only a few houses that met the criteria for location and gravel driveway. Fenton and Frank now sat in of the FBI's command trucks waiting for the team to check the house and clear it. Both prayed that Joe would still be there and that he would be returned to them uninjured after the raid. However, as the team entered the house the reports that were coming back over the radio indicated that it was empty.
Frank tried to school his features into a mask that would hide his pain, but one glance at the compassion in his father's eyes and he knew he had failed. A shaky breath blew out his lips as the team radioed to say that Fenton and Frank could come to the house. They already knew, and had been additionally warned, to touch nothing. They were there as observers and as a professional courtesy. As the two walked up the gravel drive to the house, a vehicle carrying more forensics equipment and personnel drove past them. The location of a 'holding house' had never been found in the previous kidnappings and this was a first. It was an incredibly big break for the FBI. They finally had a chance to collect evidence from a location where the kidnappers stayed for an extended period.
Nearing the house, Frank looked through the early morning light toward the detached three car garage and saw all the doors were open. Inside one of the doors sat a black SUV. Stopping dead in his tracks, Frank stared at the vehicle. "That's it," Frank said to his father. Moving to the vehicle, Frank entered the garage while the agents that were inspecting the car watched him carefully. Oblivious to their watchful gazes, Frank walked to the front right wheel and leaned over. Even in the softer lighting of the garage, he could see the dirt in the wheel well and tar residue that came from the area where they were abducted.
Fenton didn't have to ask what Frank saw or what it meant. Calling the agents over, he pointed out what Frank had spotted and then he gently took his son's arm to lead him toward the house.
As the gravel crunched under his feet, Frank said, "That was the vehicle. Joe and Iola were bound, gagged, drugged, and hauled here in the back of that SUV." Anger crept into Frank's voice. "They left it parked here so there was no chance of us seeing them after the abduction. Whatever they took him away in, we have no idea what it is."
Fenton felt Frank's pain. Knowing what vehicle to look for would have made things so much easier. "No we don't, but they weren't expecting us to find this place at all. We have to hope that they left something that we can trace them by."
Frank knew his father was right. A house had never been found and in addition, it hadn't been that long since Iola was released. They couldn't fly him out and they probably didn't take him by boat, so that meant they were traveling by car. The doctor that had treated Iola said that she had probably been drugged for about two hours before she was found. That meant that the kidnappers only had a six hour lead. They had a chance still, but it was getting smaller as time passed and both Fenton and Frank knew it. There just wasn't much they could do about it, except help look for evidence that would point them in the direction to search.
Hours later, the evidence team had taken various samples to test for DNA, but precious little was found. Except for bed linens and newspapers, there wasn't much for them to find. There was some blood on one of the rooms in the basement and Frank had paled when he saw it but his father had reassured him that it wasn't a large amount of blood. Since Iola hadn't mentioned it, it had to have occurred after she had been removed, which meant his brother had probably fought back. Was the blood his or had he wounded one of his captors? They would have to wait to see if it came back as Joe's or not. The other main piece of evidence was even more disturbing to Frank. In a bathroom on the main floor, Joe's boxers were found in the trash. They were cut and torn which made Frank and Fenton both feel that they had been removed by someone else.
As Frank walked quietly back towards the car, he knew that the house hadn't yielded the amount of evidence they needed to find Joe quickly. Police departments and state patrols across multiple states were being alerted, but they didn't have a lot to provide in the way of descriptions. They couldn't even be sure the three kidnappers would even be traveling together. What they needed was a miracle. As he pulled open the car door and sat inside, he heard his father start the car. They had already called his mother, but he still needed to tell Iola. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He'd do it in person. Having seen where she and Joe had been held for days left him feeling sick. Telling her that they hadn't been in time was going to make him feel worse… but just like the night of the kidnapping and every night since, they had taken Joe and there was nothing he could do about it.
.**********.
Frank sat in the passenger side of Phil Cohen's car. They were on their way to Iola's. Fenton and Laura had decided they didn't want Frank driving alone out to the Morton's and then they told him they really didn't even want him driving. He had protested, but they had told him that he was too distracted by what happened. Begrudgingly, he had acquiesced and called Phil who had quickly agreed to drive his friend. They were almost to the Morton's and the conversation had been minimal. Frank was glad that Phil seemed to understand his need to be alone with his thoughts. Phil's car gently swayed as he drove slowly up the pot-holed gravel driveway and Frank's thoughts went once again to what he'd say.
As Phil pulled to a stop in front of the farmhouse, Frank was hit with all the memories of being with his brother at this place. As he stepped from the car, he could see the picnic table they always ate at during the warm months. The sounds of the creek bubbling and gurgling came from the wooded area to his left. He could almost hear Joe calling him to hurry up and get to the creek. Frank's eyes closed and he felt Phil's hand on his shoulder. He couldn't open his eyes yet. Too many memories… too many thoughts of 'what if there isn't another time….' His eyes remained closed until he heard the creaky screen door on the front porch open and then Chet's hesitant voice.
"Frank?"
Opening his eyes, he looked up at one of his best friends and Iola's brother. While Iola was on the petite side with dark hair and green eyes, Chet was taller but on the heavy side. His dark hair was slightly lighter in shade than his sister's and his eyes were a brown to almost match his hair. Chet had helped as much as he could during the search for Joe and Iola, but just like the Hardys, there wasn't much he or his family could do but wait.
Chet watched his friends from the porch. After a slight hesitation, Frank had begun moving toward the house. The fact that Frank was here and hadn't just called, told Chet that Joe hadn't been found. His guilty conscious at being happy to have his sister home reared its head. Being happy while his friend was so despondent didn't sit well with him. When his parents had brought Iola home that morning, he had been almost delirious with joy. His joy quickly left as Iola related her stay in the house basement to him. His feelings had alternated between fury at her captors, grief because of her fear, and an intense gratitude for Joe who had remained steady for his sister during the whole ordeal. Now as Frank stood on the porch in front of him, he didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything but drew the taller boy into a tight hug. When he released him, they just nodded to each other as Chet reached for the door.
.**********.
Thirty minutes later, Iola sat beside Frank hugging him. Her face was buried in his shoulder as held her. She tried to control her crying, but he could hear her ragged breathing.
"If only… if only I had told you sooner…" Iola said between sobs.
"You told us as soon as you could," Frank whispered to her.
"I knew I had to get to you… I should have found a way…"
Frank's hold tightened. "You can't beat yourself up, Iola. They left you in an isolated area. You told people to call us as soon as you were found. There wasn't any more that you could do. The kidnappers saw to it that you wouldn't be found in time." Frank looked over to Iola's family. They all looked guilty. "There's nothing any of you could have done. And you shouldn't feel guilty because Iola was released and Joe wasn't." He saw all of them look down to the floor, their guilty feelings clearly expressed through their actions. "Joe wanted her released. There's no doubt in my mind. There shouldn't be doubt or guilt in yours either." Pulling back from Iola a little to look in her eyes, he said, "The FBI is processing evidence. Evidence that they've never had before and evidence that is a direct result from what you told us."
"Do you think it will help us find Joe?" Iola asked softly.
"I have to believe that it will," Frank replied. He knew that the evidence would help if it identified one or more of the kidnappers. But they would need to locate that person and get information from them. The problem was the backlog of DNA testing that needed to be preformed for different cases. There were only so many labs with so many technicians. They'd be lucky to get the results back in two weeks. Chances were, it could take close to a month and even that would be considered pretty fast. The fact that there was a chance to find live victims from this crime scene would potentially bump it up on the schedule. But he couldn't tell Iola all of that, he needed her to believe.
Iola could see the fear still lurking in Frank's eyes and she felt it too. However, she latched onto his words. "I'll believe it too, Frank," she said as she laid her head back on his shoulder. "I have to believe," she whispered to herself.
.**********.
Joe's eyes fluttered open. Light streamed in through a curtained window in the small room. Where am I? His eyes moved carefully around the room. There was a window and the bed he was in. There were two doors, one of which was open and appeared to lead to a small bathroom. He frowned. Turning his gaze to himself, he saw that the bed he was in was a simple single wooden bed with crisp white linens. Pushing himself up, he threw off the covers to see that he was wearing a pair of white cotton drawstring pajama pants. He cringed. Once again, someone had been dressing him. This gave him pause and after standing up, he felt no differently and no unexpected pain so he prayed nothing had happened to him while he was knocked out.
His feet padded softly on the polished oak floor as he moved to the open door. It was a bathroom with a sink, toilet and walk-in shower. Moving from that door to the other, he tried the knob but found it locked. Not surprising. Looking up to the ceiling, he quickly saw two small security camera recessed in two of the room's corners. Once again, not surprising. That left one more thing to check out. Joe stepped to the window of his room. The simple white linen curtains matched the bedding and wall color. He pulled the lightweight fabric to the side to see that he was on the second floor of the house and that an expanse of trees filled most of his viewing area with some kind of pole in the lawn between the house and the woods. His attention turned from the view to the actual window. It was a single piece of clear glass or other material. There was no sash to raise. In addition, a metal grate had been installed over the window so even if he did break through, he would have to remove the grate before he could escape. Pressing his face flat to the glass, he looked for something to show that the grate could be opened. He found nothing. Frustrated, his eyes returned to the landscape. Maybe he could figure out where he was.
The trees were different from many of those he normally saw in Bayport. Where they cypress? Something swaying in the breeze caught his attention… Spanish moss. They had taken him south. But how far south? Was this a swamp behind the house? His mind was spinning. Moving to the bed, he looked under it to find the space empty. Seating himself so he was propped against the headboard, he waited to find out where he was and who he was with.
