Chapter 14

While all the agency staff members were talking via their two-way radios in the park's trees, the car expelled Vanessa and a leashed Rebel onto the asphalt.

Although she had been instructed to come alone by the blackmailer, no mention had been made of her not taking along a dog. In addition to Rebel, she looked oddly bulked up, unnaturally so for the usually svelte Vanessa, courtesy of the body armour Con had acquired.

Without looking around her, Vanessa strode straight through the front gates and across the park until she came to the first trash bin and dropped a large envelope into it. Then she immediately, and without any hesitation or fuss, returned to the car, ushered a no doubt disappointed Rebel back in – if the droop of his tail was anything to go by – got in herself, and drove way.

"Good girl," Fenton muttered. "Drop's been made and she's safe," he said into the radio.

"Roger that."

"Roger."

"Got it."

All four of the agency men were placed in strategic spots throughout the park in the hope that they could track and then catch their prey as soon as he or she appeared. Frank was at the back entrance, Joe about half way along on the right and Con similarly angled, but on the left. All were in trees so that if someone should pass by, they would not be stumbled across.

Fenton fidgeted himself comfortable again, hanging his legs over the side and prepared for what could prove to be a long vigil.

Fifteen or so minutes later and he was rewarded for his patience as he spied a movement in the trees to the left. At first he thought it was the shadow of an animal, perhaps a stray dog, but then a man in black clothes stepped out and started making his way across the grass.

He was wearing a woollen hat, pulled down low over his ears and a cap on top of that, so it was impossible to make out any of the man's features. But he was solidly built; about Fenton and Joe's height, and from the way he was moving, probably closer to Fenton or Con's age. And it was definitely a man, not a woman in man's clothing.

"I got visual," Fenton muttered into the radio.

"I see him too," Con said.

"Radio silence, please," Fenton said, frightened the man would hear and be spooked. They needed to catch him red-handed, not have him change his mind and walk away. Fenton clipped the radio to his breast pocket and watched the man stride towards the waste bin. Just before he got there, he looked towards the parking lot and then did a complete 360-degree spinto check around himself. Satisfied, he went to the bin and looked in. With one final look about he put his arm in right up to his elbow and recovered the envelope.

Instead of returning the way he had come, he walked around the bin and headed for the other side of the park, passing almost directly underneath the tree the eldest Hardy was perched in, but not so closely that Fenton could simply drop down onto him. As the man re-entered the trees, Fenton pressed the broadcast button on his walkie-talkie and said, "I'm going after him."

"I'm with you, buddy," Con said.

"Me too," Joe muttered.

"Roger that, but I'm way off. Dammit!"

By the time all those reports had filtered through, Fenton was hanging by his fingertips from one of the lower branches. He allowed himself to drop, and with a controlled gasp, landed softly into a crouch. "Let's take him," he said, and then asked for radio silence again.

He made off across the grass and entered the trees where the man had disappeared just a matter of seconds earlier. Fenton paused just after and listened intently. Hearing a twig break a little way to the right, he began making his way towards their quarry, safe in the knowledge that at least Con and Joe had his back.

*****

Joe dropped out of his hiding place and instantly exited the canopy to sprint across the grass, hanging left of Con's position. The tree Joe had been in had ultimately prevented him from being able to see the guy coming for the paperwork, but Fenton's narration had been a godsend. Not only did he know Vanessa was safe, but also that the guy was on Con's side of the park. Now all he wanted to do was cash in his 'pound of flesh'…make the guy pay for how they had all been hurt by that picture.

Con was closer to him than his dad, so he thought it logical he should come from the other direction and cut the guy off. Between the three of them, they pretty much had their prey in a pincer movement, and if he tried to make off across the park to the back entrance, Frank would be there to take him down.

As soon as Joe plunged into the trees, he slowed his pace. It was very dark and he did not want to stumble and turn his ankle – he also didn't want to give himself away. Moments later, Joe found he had wandered into an area where the canopy was less thick and moonlight was stabbing through to the damp ground. It made him feel like a sitting duck, so he opted to step back into the shadows again, and just listen. He considered ruefully how Frank often said that listening was a virtue he lacked, and this seemed to have been borne out by the events of earlier on. This time, he was determined to prove Frank wrong.

Thirty seconds later it was pay dirt as Joe heard the unmistakable crackling of twigs underfoot. He crouched and looked in the direction of the noise as a man came out of the gloom into the dimly moonlit circle – a big man, moving slowly and deliberately. "I see you!"

But it was almost like the guy sensed something was unbalanced, a shift in the atmosphere perhaps, because he paused himself and his head began to turn towards where the youngest Hardy was. Joe held his breath and dropped his head so his dark hat was towards the suspect to prevent his light skin standing out against the darkness. He did not hear the man move for a few seconds, perhaps deciding if what he had seen was just a shadow, or his imagination, but eventually, Joe heard shuffled movements again. He dared a glance up and saw the man had his back to him once more.

Not wishing for the man to get any further away, Joe made a surprise charge forward to spring and cling onto the man's back, the plan to drive him into the ground and put a hold on him. The man staggered, but remarkably – despite the 190 pounds of blond muscle hitting him at full-thrust, managed to not only keep his balance, but stay firmly on his feet. Then Joe found his arms pinned as his prey turned the tables by grabbing hard onto his forearms and holding him in place.

"Shit!" Joe thought as he experienced the rush of backward propulsion. He was slammed into the unyielding obstacle of a tree trunk and all air left his lungs. Then the guy let go with one hand and half turned to seize Joe by the back his sweater and fling him again into the same trunk. The back of Joe's head cracked stunningly against living wood and he was falling face first. But before he hit the ground entirely, one of his flailing arms was caught and held aloft and his wrist twisted at a painful angle.

Although Joe's head was swimming and doing the backstroke, it did not prevent him from realising that he had assumed the upper hand all that time, when really, the guy had him fooled, turning the tables. He must have known he was there and decided to let Joe make the first move.

Joe wanted to spit.

A boot was introduced to Joe's armpit and a cuff snapped onto his wrist, then the foot was shifted heavily to the middle of his back and his other arm lifted and then…and then, everything simply stopped – the man had frozen at the sound of a familiar soft, metallic 'clank'. Then Joe heard another sound that was entirely unmistakable: "Let him go, or I'll blow your head off. Your choice, but choose quick!"

Joe realised what that clank had been; it had been Frank pulling back the slide on his gun and jacking a shell into the chamber. Joe had not even known Frank had armed himself!

"Frank, get that weapon out of my face, I'm cuffing him."

"Con?"

"Yeah…Con! Now help me before he comes to his senses, this guy's strong, well built."

"That's because it's Joe."

"Huh?" Joe heard Con's voice grow louder as he bent to check. "I don't damn well believe it!" he spluttered, and Joe found his arm was immediately dropped. "Sorry Champ, I thought you were him."

Joe rolled over and started rubbing the back of his head. "Too old for 'Champ'!" he grouched. "I thought you were him."

"I was hoping you were him," Frank joined in, disgusted and deactivated his firearm.

Frank and Con crouched to help Joe up, who stayed bent over for a few seconds until he regained his composure. Eventually he straightened up, arched his back and then cracked his neck before saying, "a piece of advice, bro, never jump on Con, he's unforgiving!"

"Over twenty years of experience. You think that's the first time someone's tried that trick? Too predictable, Joe."

"Where's Dad?" Frank piped up. "Have either of you seen anyone other than us?"

Con spoke up. "As soon as I saw our target I was getting out of the tree, not being a climber, I knew I had to move fast." He motioned off into the distance. "Fenton will be over there somewhere. The guy entered to go get the envelope, but by then I was mountaineering and didn't see him or your dad until I saw Fenton running after him about halfway along here."

"Con! That was me, not Dad!" Joe exclaimed.

Joe's eyes had now become accustomed to the dark and he could make out Con and Frank sharing a startled look.

"This has all gone to crap." Con said and pulled his two-way radio from his pocket. "Fen…report in," he requested, he waited a few seconds, but got nothing. "Fenton Hardy…report in." Then he realised that his walkie-talkie was not making any noise, not even the usual crackle when he depressed the broadcast button. He gave it a firm shake and slapped it against his palm a couple of times. It was dead.

Frank got his own radio out. "Maybe yours got damaged in the tussle," he suggested and raised his two-way to his face. "Dad, call in, where're you at?"

There was a burst of static and Fenton's voice came through loud and clear. "Where am I at? Where the hell are you?" and then there was an explosion of a gun going off, two rounds fired. The sound was pretty loud, but it sounded suppressed somehow, like a silencer was being used.

Joe immediately dropped down onto his haunches, whereas the other two stayed upright. It was a reaction to having been shot earlier in the year…it was not an experience he was rushing to endure again. He opted to stay down there and yanked his own radio from his belt, swallowing down the urge to start screaming.

Frank and Con had spun towards the noise. "Dad?" Frank yelled. "Dad, C'mon back, are you okay?"

Joe hardened himself, "Dad…answer us!" he barked, amazed at his own sudden control. "Dad?" Nothing more than dead air greeted their continued pleas.

"Split up, find your father," Con ordered, "I'm going over the other side; it sounds like the gunfire came from that direction." He raced away from them, simultaneously reaching under his jacket and down his body for his own weapon.

Frank looked down at his brother, processing and planning, the soft angle of his head showing he was empathetic as to why his brother was crouching low…but Joe knew Frank felt he did not have the benefit of time to be able to help. "Joe, did you arm yourself?"

"No."

"Double back to the tree Dad was in, maybe he'll head in that direction. If you find him, radio us, but don't put yourself in unnecessary danger."

"Gotcha."

Frank sprinted away leaving Joe to gather himself, which he did almost immediately by rising out of his crouch and turning in the opposite direction to head off at a full run through the greenery, darting trees. Eventually, he veered off at a sharp angle and plunged free of the coverage and out into open field. He pounded across the grass and up to the tree that his father had been hiding in earlier and flattened his back to the trunk.

Now that Joe was out in the open air, he could see the tracks his father and their suspect had made into the wooded area, the grass lying flat having been crushed down by footfalls. With a soft grunt, Joe quickly tied the loose ends together as to how all of them had misread the situation:

1. Con had seen the guy coming out for the paperwork, but then he had been getting out of his tree and had not witnessed the man passing across to the other side.

2. Because Con had said he had seen him and was also following, Joe and Frank had understood that the man was on Con's side of the park and had headed in that direction to cut off their prey.

3. Of course, Fenton would not have known they had all gone the opposite way because he had requested radio silence. Thus, unbeknownst to all, he had become isolated.

As Con had so eloquently put it, it had all "…gone to crap!"

Joe laughed nervously, his breathing a little uneven, feeling foolish that he had allowed his fear to overtake and show itself publicly. He considered Frank's wise words of not putting himself in danger, and then decided to set that missive aside and follow on after his dad, his concern for his father's well-being outweighing his terror of being shot – and anyway, he had already been hurt that way once that year, so by utilising Vanessa's own theory, it was unlikely to happen again until he had won big on the lottery.

So he followed the tracks left by his father and entered the trees again. Once under the canopy, he paused. Using the power of elimination he decided that going towards the main park entrance was a waste of time – if their quarry had gone that way, he had be long gone by now and his dad would not have been wondering where his comrades were. Equally, it would have made little sense for the man to have gone straight on as that direction did not lead to the highway, simply onto farmland and eventually, after a long slog over muddy, ploughed fields, to Chet Morton's parents' farm. That left the back entrance, which was the direction Joe turned towards.

As he was making his way through the foliage at a gentle speed, eyes jerking to and fro taking in any movement, he retrieved his walkie-talkie from his belt and held it to his mouth; his intention to try and raise his father again. He pushed the button and went to speak, but then changed his mind and depressed the switch, tapping it thoughtfully against his chin. He had realised that if he made contact via the airways, Frank's radio would also discharge and would alert the potential gunman as to both his brother and father's positions. Of course, it could have been Fenton who had been the gunman, but there was no way of knowing that. Playing safe was the only alternative.

So he started to return the radio to his belt. Glancing down after missing with the first couple of swipes, he realised he still had ownership of the handcuff and that it was getting in the way. By the third attempt, he had successfully re-holstered the radio, but was then stumbling and falling to his hands and knees. Whatever he had tripped over had been large and relatively soft, not hard like a log or a stone.

Reversing gear, he looked to see a dark mound and then crawled to investigate closer. It was a body, laid on its front with the face turned away. Joe scrambled forward and pulled it towards himself to find it was Fenton. "Dad?" He quickly ran his hands over his father's body, but in the dark it was difficult to uncover what injuries he had suffered, but Joe could not find any large areas of wetness, so hoped that whatever had happened had not involved a bullet. Whatever the cause, Fenton was out for the count.

A cursory pulse check against the jugular and a hand against the chest proved that although Fenton's pulse was fluttery, he was breathing well. Joe thought it was most likely a temporary setback, although it would only be confirmed once his father was out in the open and a more thorough examination could be done. But he was alive and he had found him! Joe swallowed down his relief.

Then all at once hell came a-visiting…there was a distant warning shout from Frank, "Con…CON…watch out!" and then a rapid erupting volley of ear-splitting gunfire.