Chapter Nine
The walls were bleeding and melting down around Frank. He tried to get a grip on something tangible but the world seemed to be dissolving before his eyes. Sometimes he saw his mother sobbing in this revolving reality, other times there were faceless strangers in white coats. Any attempt to speak to them would cause pain to knock from inside his head and send rivets of agony shooting through him. Occasionally, Viktor Beschastnykh laughed at him while colours roared across his vision and other times it was the man with the scar who leered vampire-like at him and raised a bloody crowbar.
For days, the teenager remained trapped in this nightmare world of liquid reality where walls melted away, bleeding downwards into nothing. Frank was beginning to despair that he would never escape when one day, spots of white light started to break through the melting walls of black and red. Shapes moved on the periphery of his vision but no matter how hard he tried, the boy couldn't focus on them. From far away he heard the faint murmur of voices.
"Help me!" Frank cried but the voices paid no heed. "Help me!" he called, louder this time, but the voices dimmed as though they were moving further away. "No, please!" he yelled and felt himself start to rock back into the emptiness.
"No! No!" the teenager cried and lashed out, trying desperately to latch onto something as the walls started to blend into one another once more. Fire erupted in the veins of his arm but he didn't care; he needed to find those voices, he didn't want to be left alone in this silent world again.
Something seized him, the first time in days he had felt anything solid. Frank stopped thrashing at once.
"Frank," a soft voice called from somewhere far away.
"I'm here," he cried frantically. "Please help me!"
"Frank, its okay, relax."
"Where are you?" he cried, ignoring the pain that was stabbing him from behind his eyes.
"Frank, its okay, shhhhh. You're safe."
A white light appeared before him and started to grow. Frank watched it, mesmerized. Was he dead? Slowly a woman's face appeared in the center of the light smiling down at him.
"There you are, sweetie," she said, her voice sounding less far away. "How are you feeling?" The light behind her dimmed slightly and Frank could see her a little more clearly. She looked to be in her forties with dark hair and a kind smile but he didn't know her, how did she know who he was?
"Frank, do you know where you are?" she asked softly.
He shook his head and regretted it immediately as pain ricocheted off the inside of his skull, bouncing from side to side. He gritted his teeth.
"You're in the hospital, dearie," the woman told him. "Do you know who I am?"
"No." The weakness of his voice startled him; it sounded like whispered air. The light behind the woman dimmed further and the shadows of a room started to come slowly into view.
The woman's gentle smile disappeared. "You don't?" She leaned over him and Frank heard a beep before her face came back into view. "I'm Rachel," she told him. "Don't you remember? We've met three times already."
Frank looked bewildered. He had never seen this woman in his life before.
"It's okay," she said soothingly, catching sight of his confused and slightly panicked expression. "Do you know your name?"
"Frank Hardy."
"That's good, Frank. Can you tell me what age you are?"
"Seventeen."
"Rachel, what is it?" a deep voice asked.
"He's awake again," answered Rachel. Her voice was slowly becoming louder and clearer. "He knows his name and age but he still doesn't remember me."
A grey-haired man replaced Rachel in Frank's field of vision. "Frank, I'm Doctor Arnolds, how are you feeling?"
"Hurts." The vicious pain in his head was nothing compared to the violent agony in his left arm.
"I know it does. I'm just going to ask you a few questions and maybe we'll be able to give you something for the pain. How does that sound?"
Frank swallowed. His mouth felt terribly dry. "Okay."
"Good. Now, Frank, Rachel tells me you know your name, can you repeat it for me?"
"Frank Hardy."
"Good." The doctor shone a light in his eye. "Frank, what age are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Very good." He shone the light in his other eye. "Frank, can you tell me where you are?"
Frank paused. Hadn't the woman told him where he was? "Hospital?" he ventured uncertainly.
"That's right. You're doing very well," the doctor told him encouragingly and held up three fingers. "Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"
Frank stared. Was this a trick question? "Three."
The doctor smiled. "Excellent, Frank. I think we can give you something for that arm now. I'll be right back with something, okay?"
"'Kay."
Frank closed his eyes and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his head and the burning agony in his arm. He felt more alive, more real, than he had in days but he wished the agony weren't so real. Pain lashed across his vision and he gritted his teeth.
"Okay, Frank, that should only take a few minutes to take effect."
The doctor was back already. Frank opened his eyes and found kind blue ones looking down at him. What should take effect? The doctor hadn't given him anything.
The thoughts had barely flitted through his head when a soft, soothing silence rolled in and Frank could feel his eyes grow heavy. The pain in his head faded to a dull thud while the fire in his arm slowly eased. As his eyes slowly closed, Frank was lulled into a dreamless sleep by the narcotics.
xxx
It was daylight when Frank awoke. He blinked as the clinical white of the hospital room came into view. His mouth was dry as paper and his body felt terribly stiff as though he had been still for a long time. He tried to sit up but the room whirled madly and he thought he might be sick. Heart pounding, he lay back and tried to ignore the sharp bursts of pain that had exploded inside his skull with the minute movement. The pain in his arm was excruciating.
"Frank, how do you feel?" a voice sounded from beside his bed and he looked cautiously to his left. Sam Radley sat there smiling at him.
"Sam," he croaked. "What's going on?"
Sam winced. "You sound terrible. Do you need a drink of water?" Frank nodded.
The detective stood up and filled a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. Dropping a straw into the glass, he tilted it towards Frank so he could drink. The teenager raised his head slightly and gulped thirstily before allowing his head to plop back onto the pillow. Even that had left him feeling exhausted.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"You're welcome. How do you feel?"
"Arm hurts," he ground out, fire licking its way through his veins.
Sam's smile disappeared. "I'll get the nurse to give you something."
As he left the room, Frank turned his gaze to the ceiling trying to remember what had happened. He remembered tailing Beschastnykh with Joe and Chet; they had gone to the docks. What then?
Joe and I followed him down the docks to a warehouse, Frank remembered. I went inside and Joe waited outside. The memories of creeping through the dilapidated building and being discovered by Beschastnykh slowly filtered back to the Hardy boy and he grimaced as he remembered the man with the scar. Images of a crowbar and crippling pain exploding in his skull assaulted him. He swallowed.
Sam reentered the room followed by a dark-haired nurse that he recognized as Rachel.
"Good morning, sunshine," she greeted him cheerily. "Do you remember me today?"
"Rachel," he replied.
Her smile grew even wider. "Well, now, there's progress. I was beginning to think I would have to introduce myself to you everyday!"
"What do you mean?" asked Frank, watching as she drew a small bottle from her pocket and filled a syringe with its contents.
"You've been slipping in and out for a few days," she replied gently, emptying the contents of the syringe into his IV line. "We've met several times but today is the first time you've remembered me."
"How many times have you introduced yourself to me?" he wondered.
"Four. Now, don't worry," she added, seeing his alarmed expression. "It's perfectly normal for people with severe head injuries to suffer from a little short-term amnesia, but you're coming around quite nicely now."
Severe head injuries…amnesia….The words whirled through his mind. How long had he been here?
"Why don't I leave you two to talk?" suggested Rachel, discreetly leaving the room.
Sam sat down beside the bed again. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.
Frank considered it. His head still ached but the fire in his arm was dimming. "Better," he replied at last. "Sam, what's going on? Where's Mom? How long have I been here?"
"Easy, Frank. I'll tell you everything but try not to get too excited. You've been pretty ill for the last few days."
The teenager gave a small nod, careful not to jar his aching head. "Sam, what happened?"
"What do you remember?"
Frank described the events as best he remembered them, ending with the brutal attack from the man with the scar. "Everything after that is a bit hazy, but I think I remember…was there a fire?"
Sam nodded. "You were lucky to get out alive."
Frank glanced at his left arm which was heavily bandaged with gauze. He swallowed. "Is that what happened to my arm?"
Sam nodded again.
"Will it scar?"
Sam's heart sank. He really wished Laura was here to answer Frank's questions but she was two floors up in the ICU; Joe had developed an infection. He hoped Frank wouldn't ask about his brother. "Frank, I won't lie to you, there will be some scarring but the doctor said that with a skin graft it should be minimal."
"Okay." Frank remained silent for several minutes and Sam didn't push him.
Finally, Frank looked at him. "What head injuries was the nurse talking about?"
"You had a cracked skull along with severe swelling and bleeding on the brain. It was tough going for a while but the doctors don't think there'll be any permanent damage."
Frank bit his lip. "Have you heard from Dad?"
"Sorry, Frank," Sam shook his head, "there's been no word."
"What about Riley? Is he still okay?"
"Still at Con's. I got confirmation that his sister is missing too. Actually, this prisoner that you saw getting off the boat, the men referred to the prisoner as she, right?"
Frank nodded.
"If I were to show you a picture, do you think you could tell me if it was Riley's sister or not?"
"Sorry, Sam, her head was hooded. Besides, isn't she in England?"
"You'd be amazed at how easy it is to smuggle people into the country. What about the boat? Did you get a name? Maybe we can track down papers for the boat."
"The boat was filthy; I couldn't see what colour−hang on! You sound like this is the first time you've heard about the boat. Didn't Joe tell you about it?"
Oh crap! Sam could have kicked himself for not thinking of that. How was he going to explain this?
Despite the horrible pain in his head and the fact that the medication was making him feel slightly fuzzy, Frank could see unease in Sam's hesitation and propped himself up on his good arm, ignoring the roar of nausea that surged through him. "Sam, what's wrong? Where's Joe?"
Sam's heart sank further. Laura would kill him. "He's upstairs."
"Upstairs where?" demanded Frank.
"He's in the ICU."
Frank stared at him. "What! Why? Sam, he wasn't…he wasn't in the warehouse was he?"
"He wasn't in the warehouse but, Frank I really think your mother should be the one to explain everything to you."
"Nu-uh!" said Frank insistently, shaking his head and setting off small explosions of pain. "Tell me what happened right now!"
"Frank, please, I really think Laura should be the one to tell you−"
"Tell me what?" Frank's heart monitor was starting to beat erratically. "Sam, either tell me what happened to Joe or I swear to God, I'll get out of this bed and go straight to the ICU!" He struggled to sit up and his already pale face drained further of colour.
"Whoa, easy, Frank!" Sam got up from his chair and placed his hands on the agitated teenager's shoulders, gently pushing him back on the bed. "You're in no shape to be up and around. Lie down, I'll tell you."
Frank lay back down on the bed watching Sam fearfully. "What happened?"
Sam couldn't look the dark-haired boy in the eye. "Someone stabbed him."
Frank was horrorstruck. "Stabbed? How? They didn't know he was out there, they said there was no one outside when they went out to look!"
"I don't know what happened. Joe's under heavy sedation and we haven't been able to talk to him."
"How is he?" Frank's voice was barely a whisper.
"He's healing nicely," Sam replied. "He's young and fit like you so that's a big advantage."
"Then why is he under sedation?"
"Just to give his body time to heal."
Frank was no longer looking at him. The teenager had his eyes fixed on the ceiling and Sam could see a tremble in his fingers. "Where's Mom?"
"She's upstairs with Joe," replied Sam gently. "Do you want me to get her?"
"No. Just help me out of this bed. I'll go see her myself."
"Frank, you can hardly sit up much less walk! You're in no shape to go anywhere."
"I am going to see my brother," the teenager insisted obstinately using his good arm to throw off the covers, "with or without your help."
"Frank, don't be stupid," said Sam, trying to prevent the teenager from rising up again. "You've only just come around properly for the first time, give your body a chance to−Frank!"
The dark-haired boy was batting away Sam's hands as he tried to sit up. The roar of nausea was turning into a tidal wave. "Sam, either help me up or get out of my way!"
"Frank, please, lie back down!"
"No!"
"Frank!"
Two voices shouted his name; one in exasperation the other in shock. As Sam turned towards the other voice, Frank got a clear view of his mother's figure framed in the doorway.
"Honey, you're awake!" she cried, her voice quivering. Crossing the room quickly, she enveloped her son in a tight hug. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," Frank lied quickly. "Can I go see Joe?"
"What?" Laura released him and turned back to Sam. "You told him?" she said accusingly.
Sam shrugged helplessly. "He asked…he knew there was something wrong and he was getting agitated…I had to tell him."
Laura gave him a look that would curdle milk before turning back to her anxious son. "Honey, you're in no fit state to be getting out of bed. When you're feeling stronger you can go see Joe." She gently pushed him down from the half-seated position he had managed to get himself into until he was horizontal on the bed once more.
"Mom, please," Frank protested trying to sit up again as his mother pulled the covers back over him. The tide of nausea was threatening to erupt inside him. "I need to see Joe."
"What you need is to lie down and get plenty of rest," Laura told him firmly. "You can see Joe when you're feeling stronger."
"But I feel fine," Frank insisted, just as his head started to swim. "I need…I have to…urgggh!" The nausea finally won the battle and Frank vomited over the side of the bed, then lay back gasping.
"Oh right, you really seem fine," said Laura sarcastically pressing the call button. A nurse appeared within seconds at the door.
"Is everything okay?"
"My son just got sick," said Laura apologetically.
"I'll get someone to clear it up," the nurse replied and vanished.
Frank was grinding his teeth as the pain in his head came back. "Those painkillers didn't last very long," he ground out.
"You were given something for the pain again?" Laura asked.
Frank nodded and the room rocked. He was starting to feel really not okay.
He heard Sam's voice ask, "Should I get the doctor?" and then the world tipped sideways and Frank tumbled downwards into darkness.
xxx
Daylight was streaming through the blinds when Frank's eyes fluttered open. The sharp, violent pain in his head had gone leaving it dead and heavy, while the pain in his arm had faded considerably. The teenager sat up feeling weak and shaky but without any of the nausea that had hit him the last time he tried to sit up.
"Frank, honey? How are you feeling?" Laura Hardy was sitting beside the bed, her eyes tired and bloodshot.
"Better," he answered. "What happened? How long have I been out?"
"Almost fifteen hours. You completely overexerted yourself and your body just wasn't able to take it." She glared at him sternly. "Honestly, Frank, what were you thinking? You're recovering from a cracked skull for crying out loud!"
"I just wanted to see Joe. When can I see him?"
"Maybe tomorrow."
"Why not now?"
"Because you're not physically strong enough. Do you want a repeat of yesterday?"
"But I feel fine−"
"Frank, you're not going up to see Joe and that's final!"
Frank glared mulishly at his mother as he relaxed back against the pillows. He knew there was no point arguing with her when she used that tone of voice. "At least tell me how he is?"
"He's fine. Stop worrying and just concentrate on getting better."
"Where's Sam?"
Laura's face tightened. "He went home."
Frank couldn't help but noticed his mother's grim expression and harsh tone. "Mom, what's going on between you and Sam?"
"Nothing."
"Yeah right. Mom, I can see you're mad with him about something."
She let out a tense sigh. "I'm not happy with him, Frank. He promised me he would keep you boys safe and look what happened."
"This isn't his fault, Mom!" Frank defended Sam at once. "He warned us not to do anything stupid. We just didn't listen."
"You're seventeen, Frank, and Sam should have known better than to send you on a surveillance of dangerous men…terrorists no less!" Laura's nostrils flared in anger and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests of the chair. When Sam had told her the full story of Riley, Beschastnykh and the probable terrorist attack, she had come close to slapping him for involving her sons.
"Mom, Dad's missing and we wanted to help!" Frank argued. "You can't blame Sam for that."
"Your father wouldn't have wanted you involved in this. It's too dangerous."
"No, Mom, you're the one who doesn't want us involved in this…in any detective work!" Frank shot back. "You've been funny about it ever since Ben Mathis last year."
"Can you blame me?" she asked as a knock on the door sounded. They both looked around to see an uncomfortable Chet Morton standing there.
"Um, can I come in?"
"Of course, Chet," Laura replied getting to her feet. "I'm sure Frank could do with the company. I'll go and see Joe. Frank, don't even think of getting out of that bed or I'll have you tied to it!" She smiled at a bewildered Chet as she swept past him, while Frank scowled at his mother's retreating back.
"Er, what was that about?" Chet asked.
"Nothing, doesn't matter," Frank muttered, his expression dark.
"Right." Chet gave him a shrewd glance. "How are you feeling?"
Frank shrugged then winced. "Owwww! I was going to say better but…" he glanced down at his arm which was beginning to burn.
"Arm hurts?" ventured Chet.
"Yeah."
"Sam told me what happened." Chet bit his lip and studied Frank before he burst out with, "Frank, why did you go into the warehouse? You knew these guys were dangerous and you promised both Sam and me that you wouldn't do anything stupid! I thought you and Joe were dead! Do you know how that felt?"
The normally mild-mannered Chet looked angry and Frank was surprised. "Chet, I'm sorry. I just…I just didn't think."
Chet snorted. "Clearly."
"I am sorry, Chet…really."
Chet's expression softened. "I know. But please don't ever do that to me again."
"I won't. I promise."
"Okay, so now that we've that out of the way, how's Joe?"
"Mom said he's getting better but I don't know if she's telling me everything because she won't let me up to see him."
"Your mom wouldn't lie to you," Chet pointed out.
"She wouldn't lie to me but she might leave stuff out," Frank replied shrewdly. "Especially if she thinks I'm in no fit state to hear bad news."
"Is she right?"
Frank shrugged. "My arm is killing me and my head feels like it weighs a ton, but not telling me what's really going on with Joe? Do you know the kind of horrible scenarios I can come up with in my head?"
Chet looked at him sympathetically. "Why don't you tell her that?"
"Because Mom isn't being the most reasonable person in the world right now. She's been freaking out ever since Dad disappeared and now with what happened to me and Joe…" his voice tailed off and he gave a helpless shrug.
"Has there been any word from your Dad?"
"Nothing," the dark haired boy replied softly.
Chet was silent. Frank had never looked so despondent and he didn't know what to say to cheer his friend up. "Frank, I'm sure your Dad is fine, he always is."
Thinking about his missing father and injured brother made Frank want to throw something so he changed the subject. "What did happen that night at the warehouse?"
"Didn't Sam tell you?"
"Not really. I sort of passed out before I got to the full story."
"Well, don't pass out on me please," Chet warned him, settling into the chair beside Frank's bed and beginning the story of what had happened after Frank and Joe had left him by the car. Frank was silent while Chet talked, his countenance becoming grimmer as the story unfolded. He was disappointed to discover the license plate of the SUV had turned out to be a fake.
When Chet finished talking, Frank remained silent. He felt slightly ashamed of the decisions he and Joe had made that night. Never mind that it had almost cost them their lives, they had never considered what their actions may cost their loyal friend; especially after Frank promised him that they wouldn't do anything dangerous.
And it had cost Chet. Frank could see that he had been badly frightened by the events of that night and that he felt responsible for what had happened. Frank had put that responsibility on his shoulders by asking him to call for help. "Chet, I'm sorry. I am really sorry. I should never have put you in that position and I shouldn't have broken my promise to you that we would be careful."
"Its okay, Frank−"
"No!" said Frank forcefully. "It's not okay! We made some very stupid moves that nearly got ourselves killed and scared a lot of people. I'm not even sure if Joe is even okay," he finished miserably.
"Joe will be fine. Sam said he's young and fit so it gives him a better chance."
"When did you talk to Sam?"
"This morning. He called to the house−I almost forgot! Frank, there was an agent with him!"
"An FBI Agent? Why?"
"Sam's contact in the bureau was murdered, the same night you guys were nearly killed! That's why you couldn't get Sam, he was on his way to meet with this guy and his phone was dead."
"Sam didn't say anything about this yesterday; why did he meet with him?"
"He didn't. When he called home and heard what happened to you guys, he turned around and came straight back to Bayport."
"So he has no idea what this guy wanted to talk to him about," Frank realized. "Damn! That's our fault. If we hadn't gotten hurt, Sam would have found out what the guy knew."
"And I wouldn't be here to tell you about it." Frank and Chet's heads swiveled towards the doorway to see Sam and a man in a dark suit standing there.
"If I hadn't come back to Bayport then in all likelihood, I would have been murdered alongside Jake," Sam told the Hardy boy as he entered the room and walked over to Frank's bed. "I was meeting him at his apartment where he was murdered…about an hour after I was due to arrive. So, in a weird way, you saved my ass, Frank."
"Or you could have saved this guy Jake by being there and catching the guy who did it," said Frank.
"Not likely, these guys are pros and if they wanted me dead that night then I would be dead."
"Joe and I are alive," Frank pointed out.
"You and Joe weren't planned. You showed up unexpectedly at the warehouse and they improvised. Everything points to these guys knowing I was coming to Washington to see Jake, they would have been waiting for me, Frank."
"But how do you know−?"
"Agent Benford's phone was bugged," the man in the dark suit interrupted Frank. "Look, let's skip the formalities; I know you're Frank Hardy and I'm Agent David Lynch. We know these guys were watching Jake Benford; his phone at home and work was bugged with a voice activation device. Every time he made a call, they had a live show of who he was talking to. They knew he was poking into this case and we think he hit on something big and that's why they killed him."
"What did he hit on?" Frank demanded.
"We don't know yet," Agent Lynch admitted. "But whatever he discovered, he was obviously going to tell Mr. Radley here. It's very unfortunate for the FBI that he was murdered before he could reveal what he had discovered."
"Oh yeah, it was unfortunate for the FBI," Sam muttered darkly. Agent Lynch ignored him.
Frank studied the agent's face. "You have an idea about what he discovered, haven't you?"
"We have some thoughts on the matter."
"What are they?"
"We think there may be a mole in the FBI."
Something clicked in Frank's brain. "There is! Those guys mentioned something before they discovered me; they knew about Dad working their case and they said they had a guy in the FBI."
Agent Lynch's attention zeroed in on Frank. "Did they mention any names?"
The teenager shook his head. "No. They just said their 'guy in the FBI,' that was it."
"Pity they didn't name names," Sam commented.
Another thought struck Frank. "A mole in the FBI could mean anyone's involved, we can't trust the FBI!" He turned with narrowed eyes to Agent Lynch. "And that means we can't trust you."
The agent smiled thinly. "I admire your caution. However, in this instance, I can assure you that it's very misguided. I am not the FBI mole."
"And why should we believe you?" Frank shot back.
"Because I don't work for the FBI, Mr. Hardy. I work for the CIA."
