CHAPTER 5
"Okay, it's already coming to two hours now," Joe said to his father for the umpteenth time. In fact, he had been saying that for every five minutes.
The past hour, all he had could do was eat something while pretending nothing was wrong with Frank, or twiddling his thumbs together as he waited impatiently for Frank to come home.
Aunt Gertrude had been fussing and complaining about their dangerous work. She finally grew bored and quiet when Joe and Fenton kept replying to her in soporific 'yeses' and 'hmmms' before she returned to the kitchen.
"Let's call the police, and the hospital first," Mr. Hardy suggested and picked up his phone. He began calling the police to request a search for Frank Hardy, even though his son hadn't been missing for forty-eight hours. But he knew Chief Collig, the chief of Bayport PD, would help his old friend out.
Next, he called the hospital. Since there were a few of them in the area, he and Joe divided the task to call them.
"Okay, no one with the name Frank Hardy has been admitted to Bayport General," Joe reported half an hour later as he placed down the receiver.
"Ditto here," Mr. Hardy told him, putting down another phone. "That was from Southport Medical Center."
He crossed the last name from the list in front of him.
"Now what? Wait for Chief Collig to report?" Joe prompted, feeling antsy. He was itching to get out of the house and start searching for Frank.
Suddenly, there was a scream.
"That's Aunt Gertrude!" Joe sprang up from his chair and dashed for the door. He saw his aunt standing at the front doorway, clutching a broomstick.
"What's wrong, Gertrude?" Mr. Hardy asked anxiously. He and Joe tried to look through the doorway that she was blocking.
"That's Frank!" she gasped, pointing toward the front lawn.
"Where?" Joe went through the doorway as his aunt stepped aside.
His heart stopped for a moment when he saw Frank, blindfolded, was sprawled on the front lawn – face down and unmoving.
"Frank!" Joe rushed toward his brother. He pulled the blindfold away. As he turned the body, he was met by a sickening sight. Who could have done this to him? What evil madness could drive someone to do this?
There were bruises and cuts of his brother's face. The area around his eyes had turned blue-and-green, and puffy, as if he had just survived a boxing competition. Dried blood could be seen at the corner of his lips, nose, and on the forehead. There were also some burnt marks on Frank's arms and wrists. Joe looked horrified when he recognized the wound. He had seen most of them from books that he had read about counterintelligence, showing methods of tortures to extract information from a captured spy.
"Is he alive?" Mr. Hardy was kneeling down beside Joe.
With trembling hands, Joe felt for a pulse.
He let out a shaky breath of relief. "Yeah."
"Let's get him inside." Mr. Hardy and Joe carried Frank into the house and carefully placed him on the couch. His father looked grim as he examined Frank's condition. Joe had a feeling he, too, had reached the same conclusion, even though he didn't say anything.
"Is that teeth marks?" Aunt Gertrude asked plaintively when she saw Frank's arms.
"Yes, possibly rats'," Mr. Hardy nodded gravely. "Call Dr. Bowman, tell him we might need a tetanus shot, and some tetracyclines," he told his older sister. Dr. Bowman was the Hardy's physician.
She nodded and immediately went to dial Dr. Bowman's number.
"Don't you think it's easier if we send him to hospital?" Joe asked.
"No," he replied firmly. He stood up and walked toward the window.
"You think our house is being watched?" Joe asked when he saw his father carefully surveying the front of the house and the street.
"Just being cautious. Whoever did those things to Frank knew what he or she was doing. There must be a reason Frank was released, or else they just would have killed him right away."
"Dr. Bowman will arrive in about ten minutes," Gertrude Hardy announced after placing the call. "In the meantime, I'll prepare some warm water and clean up Frank's face," she said before heading to the kitchen.
When Dr. Bowman came, he quickly checked Frank's condition. He had known the Hardys for so long that he wasn't surprised by their emergency call. He gave Frank a tetanus shot, and penicillin because he was running out of tetracyclines. He told Mr. Hardy that Frank would have to go through an antibiotic therapy by giving him penicillin for seven to ten days, and need lots of rest.
"If he develops rashes, fever, chills, headaches, or muscle aches, or maybe a slight arthritis in the next few days, please let me know," Dr. Bowman told them.
"We will," Mr. Hardy promised.
After thanking the doctor, Mr. Hardy led the man to the doorway, while Joe carried Frank by the shoulder and placed him in the bedroom.
Frank slowly regained consciousness as soon as Joe put him on the bed.
"Ow!" Frank suddenly jerked away. He clutched his injured bandaged arms and winced. "That…hurts – a lot."
"Sorry."
"Joe? What are you doing here?" Frank felt confused when he heard his brother's voice.
"What am I doing here? I live here."
"Wha…What happened? How did I get here?" Frank asked, rubbing his eyes to adjust against the light. But he realized it was a huge mistake. The area around his eyes felt sore, and stinging from the touch that his eyes turned watery, until his nose felt a stabbing pain. He sneezed. Even his head felt heavy and big.
"You don't remember?" Joe looked worried.
His brother shook his head. "Too fuzzy…" He felt groggy and exhausted and sick.
Joe stifled his groan at his brother's pun. "At least I know you're going to be all right. Maybe you'll remember something after you rest for a while."
"All I know is my eyes hurt, my face hurts. Everything hurts. I hate it." He shivered suddenly.
"And you look quite a sight, too. Just don't show your face to Callie for a few days. The doctor warned us that you might come down with a fever, or chills. You need to rest, now," Joe commanded.
"No…got to find it…"
"Frank, you're delirious."
"I've got to find the ch-"
"Frank!" Joe tried to stop his brother from climbing out of the bed.
"Get away."
"Later."
"Now."
"Later."
"Now."
"Mule."
Frank's puffy eyes narrowed suspiciously at Joe. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean like I want it to mean."
"You're acting like Aunt Gertrude."
"Who acts like me?" They heard their aunt's voice from the doorway. She was carrying an icepack.
"He does," the brothers said in unison, pointing at one another.
"Hmmph, I don't know if I should feel insulted. Both of you are behaving like eight-year-olds. I don't want to be that young." She smacked the icepack against Frank's swollen eyes.
"Yeow! Are you trying to cure me or puff my eyes? I'm not a dough, you know."
"What in the world is going on here?" Mr. Hardy's voice boomed inside the room. "I can hear everything from downstairs."
"Be still," Aunt Gertrude ordered Frank as she adjusted the icepack.
"I believe Frank could be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder," Joe reported to his father.
All of them looked at Joe in shocked silence.
"What?" Joe asked in bewilderment. "Can't I say something with medical terms?"
"I believe you might be right about Frank, Joe," Mr. Hardy spoke up, walking toward the bed.
"I'm fine, Dad. Aside from getting beat up, and a mild electrocution, I'm still in one piece," Frank insisted, scowling at Joe.
Aunt Gertrude gave a startling gasp. "Electrocution?"
"I think I'll take over from here," Mr. Hardy told his sister. He led her out of the room despite her protests. Then he closed the door before turning to Frank and Joe. "Now, are you up to tell us what had happened?" he asked Frank seriously. "Or do you want to rest first?"
"No, I'm ready to tell," Frank told him faintly, sitting up on his bed. He placed the icepack on the side of his head.
"Okay, I'm all ears." Joe sat on a chair next to the bed.
Slowly and painfully, Frank told them what had happened after he got home from school, and how he ended up in a dark room. He told them about the so-called FBI interrogation, and what Agent Morris had done to extract information from him.
Joe and his father listened silently as Frank explained.
"You're right. I don't think those men are from the FBI," Mr. Hardy finally commented when Frank had finished.
"But who were they? And why were they accusing me of espionage?" Frank asked.
"Espionage is one crime that's hard to get a proof on, you usually have suspicions. I'd bet they couldn't come up with hard evidence if they had accused you of something else. It's too early to tell who were these people. I'm going to check something in my office later if there are any suspicious things going on lately," his father told them.
"You've got any idea what prototype Morris was asking about?" Joe asked Frank, still looking slightly white after hearing what had happened to his brother.
"Oh, yeah, they want a chip," Frank told them wearily.
"What kind of chip?" Mr. Hardy asked curiously.
"I don't know. I've tried asking them, but all I got was getting a fist slammed into my face each time I want an answer." Frank winced at the memory.
"What makes them think you have the chip?" Joe asked.
Frank shrugged, and frowned. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Either they had taken the wrong person, or maybe I have it without knowing it, but they were pretty confident I've got it."
"Is that why they released you?"
"I've made a deal with them," Frank hedged. "I told them I have the chip…and that I will give it to them after I've found it. They'll contact me soon."
"You're totally insane! Do you realize how dangerous it could be?"
Frank chuckled humorlessly. "That sounds like my line."
"How can you find the chip? That thing could almost have the size of a button, maybe even smaller. It won't make it easier to find it," Mr. Hardy pointed out. He didn't seem pleased by the turn of the situation.
Frank sighed. "I don't know, Dad. But I know I have to find it."
"What if you couldn't find the chip? What would they do?" Joe asked worriedly.
Frank grew somber as he looked at Joe. "You'll be dead."