Chapter 26

Con frowned his concern for the missing older Hardy brother as he continued his conversation with Fenton by cell phone. "Chances are he left his cell phone in his apartment or maybe at Compute-Soft...oh...no, scratch that, he didn't leave it at Compute-Soft, I remember him using it yesterday to phone Laura. Is his car still there?"

"I'm looking at it right now."

"Is it locked?"

"Crook locked, alarmed, and the hood is cold."

"What about Bale?"

"Saw a man who looked like him going into the offices earlier, but obviously as I've not seen him in the flesh I can't be entirely sure," Fenton's tone dropped to a growling whisper, "take my word for it, Con, Frank hasn't been here, I've covered all the bases."

Con ignored his friend's obvious irritation at having to play twenty questions. "Frank definitely said he'd meet you thirty minutes ago?"

"Forty five, I was late."

"Did you got into Compute-Soft to ask for him? Perhaps Frank's already in there seems you were late."

"I didn't have to. Heather Jones saw me looking at Frank's car and came out to return his stuff. She confirmed he's not in there and besides, he was under strict instructions not to go in alone. As I said, I covered all the bases, so can we get practical?"

"Hey, don't get pissed with me, I'm just getting an angle on things, even the most experienced PI can miss stuff."

"This one didn't."

Con thought hard for a while. If it had been Joe who had been ordered not to go in alone, then Con would have put money on him being in the building glory hunting...even if Ms Jones had not seen him. But Frank? He always respected Fenton's orders, would have appreciated the logic of hanging back to play the safety-in-numbers game. Then something occurred to him. "Hasn't Frank got a GPS locator on his cell?"

"Of course! I forgot about that..."

Con bit down hard onto his tongue, resisting the urge to say, "I told you so." It would not do any good. Fenton's snappishness was his way of venting fear. Better that than reaching his flashpoint and going off the deep end.

"...but we can't track him on it, only Frank's software provider can do that and I can't remember who that is. The police can though, in an emergency."

"This is how we'll play it. You get onto James and I'll dump Joe. I'll make an excuse to take him over to Andrea's place to keep his eye on the women. To tell you the truth, I think he'll be relieved for the excuse to get some R&R. I'll meet you afterwards, the place dependent upon what James finds out, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Don't do anything until I get to you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Con swung his car down into the basement parking garage of Frank's apartment block and spotted Fenton hovering anxiously by the elevator. Fenton immediately began moving swiftly towards the vehicle so that as soon as Con parked, he was having his door pulled open.

"What did James say?" Con asked, getting immediately down to business.

"He said that the closest the cell's location can be pinpointed is somewhere around the elevator, in the parking lot, but I've looked all over and can't find it."

"In the elevator itself?" Con swallowed and leaned away as Fenton's eyebrows dropped. He looked like he was tempted to sock him in the mouth. Con sidestepped his partner and headed for the elevator. He wanted to voice his own theory as to what was going on, but didn't consider it the right time with his friend being so tightly wound. He hit the elevator call button.

"Do you think I didn't already look?" Fenton challenged, stepping around in front of him again.

"Course not, buddy, I just—" Con's brain swirled desperately for a change of direction and he even – for one mad, insane moment – considered giving his friend a hug, his hands rising up unconsciously. But before proceedings got out of hand, Con reeled himself back in and called a halt. "Since when did we start hugging…what is Andrea Bender doing to me?" Diverting his hands to slapping his hips Con asked, "Did you dial the phone again to see if you can hear it ringing?"

Fenton sighed heavily at receiving yet another obvious suggestion and began playing with his cell. He held it up for Con to see that it had connected to Frank's phone and was ringing.

Con listened hard for Frank's signature 'Mission Impossible' ringtone, but the air was silent except for the approaching elevator car. "Does he ever have it on vibrate?"

"Hardly ever. Frank thinks it's perverse to carry a vibrating device in the front of your pants."

They eyeballed one another realising that if it wasn't for their worry for Frank's welfare, that statement, said in all innocence, would have had them both doubled over.

The elevator doors started to slide open.

Con cleared his throat. "Let's go up to the apartment and have a look there. Perhaps the phone's software is on the fritz? Technology isn't infallible, no matter what Frank thinks."

"Actually, from what I understand, with satellite technology, it's pretty much—" Fenton stopped talking and they eyeballed each other for an entirely different reason this time – they could hear 'Mission Impossible'. It was faint, but it was definitely there, and coming from the direction of the elevator's interior.

"Okay, you couldn't have looked that hard for it, Fen."

"You find it then, hotshot!"

A quick glance around the contours of the small space suggested Fenton was correct that the phone was not there, but undeterred, Con stepped inside and checked the handrail to see if it had gotten wedged, but there was no sign. The cell phone simply was not there...but it was still playing!

Con turned to Fenton who was bracing his arm against the door to stop it from closing and raised his own hands in confused surrender. "Ghost phone?" Then it hit them both at once and they looked down at the gap below the door. "Damn!"

They both dropped to their haunches and peered down through the tiny slit, Fenton raising his glasses. It was pitch black down there, but they could see the flashing of a screen light. "Frank?...FRANK?...You down there son?"

"Can I be of assistance?" asked a voice.

They both started and jerked their heads up to find a security guard looming over them. It was the same man who had helped them previously when Frank's car had been boosted and had resulted in Fenton, Con and Nancy Drew being commandeered into investigating a car stealing racket. A situation that had eventually involved both brothers and led to Frank leaving for Seattle for his treatment.

"It's Mr Hardy behind those sunglasses, isn't it?" the security guard asked, "and Mr Riley?"

Con raised himself out of his crouch and offered out his hand. "Hello Stan."

Stan grinned and they shook hands. "Are you looking for Frank?"

Fenton rose to join them. "Yes we are. How big is the area below this elevator? We can hear his cell ringing."

"There's a head height inspection pit beneath so that mechanics can carry out maintenance work, but if you're thinking Frank is down there, you're mistaken. The metal doors to the area are bolted and padlocked shut, no one can gain access. Besides which, Frank's not home, his car hasn't come back yet."

"We know where his convertible is...this time." Con assured him dryly.

Fenton brought the conversation back to Frank's wayward phone. "A slim phone could have slipped through the gap though, if it was dropped?"

"Sure Mr Hardy. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened either."

"Can you take us down there so we can get it?"

Stan dropped his chin in agreement and gestured for them to follow him. He led them to the stairwell and down to the lower basement level. They were met by a wooden door with a 'Staff Only' notice attached. Stan unhooked a large set of keys and took a few seconds selecting the correct one before opening up and ushering them though.

Fenton pushed his glasses up past his forehead and rested them on top of his head. It was much darker in that room than out in the corridor.

The space smelled oily and musty and the ceiling was cobwebbed. It was being used for the storage of maintenance equipment such as an industrial vacuum cleaner and other cleaning materials, as well as several large tool boxes and a dusty, out of use, photocopier. Bizarrely, stood on top was a stuffed squirrel dressed in a tuxedo which had been posed holding a small billiards cue – why it was there was anyone's guess. Despite its unloved appearance, the room was quite ordered with no implication that any sort of scuffle or struggle had gone on, nothing to suggest that Frank had been forced into the room.

They joined Stan at a metal door to the side and waited again as he sorted through his keys and began to unlock the large padlock that was holding it shut. Con placed his hand on Fenton's shoulder supportively. He didn't think Frank was down there, but that wasn't to say Fenton agreed.

Finally, Stan unhitched the padlock and then pulled two squeaky bolts across and with some difficulty, started to pull the door wide. It gave off a loud, ear-splitting squeal as rusting hinges complained. Eventually it was fully open and Con felt Fenton shudder under his hand – a tremor of relief at finding that Frank's cell phone was the only alien thing under there. That, and a woman's sliver earring which had long since tarnished a dirty yellow.

"There it is." Stan moved forward and put his hand out to pick up the phone, but Fenton stopped him with a hand to his elbow.

"Hold on, Stan. Let me get it." Fenton pulled a plastic evidence bag from his inside pocket and entered the claustrophobic space. There was a mechanical clank and a whirring of cogs, and Fenton looked up to watched mesmerised as the elevator began to pull away from him up the shaft to eventually disappear into the distant darkness. Dragging his attention back, he put his hand into the bag like a glove, picked up the handset and then pulled the bag inside out around it.

"What you doing that for?" Stan asked, intrigued.

"Trying not to contaminate any possible evidence. Preserving forensics."

"What for?" Stan asked, but was talked across by Con.

"We'd better head up to Frank's apartment, although I don't think we'll find anything considering he got as far as the elevator before he went AWOL."

Con had purposefully avoided the word 'taken', 'kidnapped' or 'abducted' and instead opted for the softer 'AWOL'. In all probability, Frank had not gone on his own volition, not having made such solid plans to meet his father and then had not returned to try and find his cell. Con was experienced enough to recognise the signs, but to say those words aloud would have made it all the more tangible and he was not sure they were ready to commit themselves to that awful truth yet.

Stan stood aside to let Fenton out of the elevator pit and then closed the door, pulling a face as the hinges shrieked again. "What did his friend say?"

Fenton was lifting is sunglasses again from the top of his head, but what Stan said caused his hand to freeze. "Friend?" he asked pointedly after a pause. "What...'friend'?"

"The one who picked him up this morning. Last night, I saw Frank up to his apartment – he told me what happened and I wanted to make sure he got up there safely, what with his back, he looked about to fall over. Then this morning, Frank was met by a friend. Said he was giving him a lift to pick up his convertible."

Con's mind slammed into reverse. "Is that what you meant when you said Frank wasn't back because his car wasn't there?"

"Exactly."

Con turned and ran back up the stairs to the car parking area, Stan and Fenton following at a slower pace. He hit the elevator button again and listened to his partner's continuing conversation as they came up to meet him.

"Can you remember what Frank's 'friend' looks like?"

Stan thought hard. "Just ordinary. Short brown hair, tall."

"Thin or heavy?"

"Thin. Like Frank."

"So 'athletic' then?"

"A fair word."

Fenton passed Frank's cell to Con and extracted his own phone to select a number. "Only Tony Prito comes close to that description, although why he'd take Frank out of here without as much as a by-your-leave..."

"Isn't Prito a lot shorter than Frank?" Con asked. He was fiddling with Frank's handset through the plastic bag to see if Frank had received any other calls that morning other than from himself or Fenton. There were none. Con wasn't surprised.

Fenton was answering him. "That was in high school. Tony had a late growth spurt, so there's not much difference now." Fenton's expression changed as the call was answered. "Is Tony Prito available?…Fenton Hardy…Yes please, tell him it's urgent."

Con hit the elevator button again hard, now feeling every bit as worried as Fenton and taking it out on the stubbornly slow elevator.

"...Hello…Tony?...I'll tell them, but that's not why I called. Is Frank with you?...As I thought...I hope not....I'll let you know...Bye." He snapped his phone shut wearily and glanced at Con. "He isn't with Tony." Then he addressed Stan again, "Would Frank's 'friend' have been captured on your security camera?"

"He must have. I'll have to search for it though."

"Would you mind tracking down the footage for us while Con and I take another look at the elevator and go up to the apartment?"

"Sure thing Mr Hardy. Your Frank lives an exciting life, huh?"

"Too exciting."

It did not feel to Frank like he was 'living an exciting life'. Living an exciting life surely denoted someone having fun and Frank was not having fun. Frank was trapped in a scary photo album, stepping from one snapshot into another, each image unconnected to the last, his brain unable to process and fill in the gaps.

He had glimpsed the elevator, the parking garage…Stan the Security Guard (?)…a car…road works…his feet…a street…a door (number fourteen?)…a sleeping bag. It seemed that every time he blinked, his psyche shifted in its reality – sometimes a matter of seconds, sometimes minutes in the flutter of an eyelid. No matter how hard he had tried to focus his mind or keep those blinks short, he could not do it.

Only now were things starting to make sense. Like the fact that when Frank moved his arms, they stayed put, each wrist tied with what must be lengths of cord, arms crisscrossed across his front and than the ends knotted at his back – no hope of either hand being able to reach the other, let alone the knots. Small wonder that his ankles had not been bound.

He turned his head, which took serious effort, and sought out the greatest source of light, that being a window. Everything was in stark focus, the colors vivid and psychedelic, vapour trails chasing the leader as his eyes panned. He was forced to squint, a headache building.

Just to the one side of the slightly opened window, there was a stack of packing cases with a man perched cross-legged on top, looking out with something across his lap. Sensing Frank's gaze, his face began to turn towards him, but before Frank could translate what he was seeing properly, his eyes were drooping again.