After talking to Dean Stewart, Fenton flew to the nation's capitol and requested an audience with Arnold Priest, the secretary of defense.
A man in his late forties with the stature and mannerisms of a veteran Marine, Arnold Priest was as contrary a man expected of his position, as a worm would be courting a blue jay. He was three inches taller than Fenton's own six-foot frame with balding black hair and sharp hazel eyes. He was a fine physical specimen with square shoulders and a square jaw that looked like it might have had more than its share of attention from an opponent's fist.
"Fenton," Priest greeted him, rising from behind his desk as Fenton entered his spacious office. "You look troubled."
Fenton gave him a wan smile. As formidable as Priest looked and appeared in the public eye, he was as caring and open with his friends as either of Fenton's own sons. "That's putting it mildly," Fenton stated, sinking into an overstuffed chair next to Priest's desk. "There has been a breech," he began. "There was a Sleeper at the boarding school where you had me send Joe. The spy is gone and so is my son."
"Who?" Priest demanded.
"Blake Baldwin," Fenton answered. "He taught gym."
"I'll see what I can find out about him," Priest promised.
"You can try," acknowledged Fenton. "But his setup was perfect. I doubt you will be able to find anything."
Priest was puzzled by Fenton's defeatist attitude but one look into his eyes had him wondering what Fenton knew. "Okay, give," Priest ordered.
"Baldwin was a tool," Fenton answered. "I think we should move ahead with the original plan."
"But you wanted both your sons involved," Priest objected. His curiosity was growing by leaps and bounds but Fenton wasn't giving anything away.
"They will be," continued Fenton. "Joe became involved when he was abducted and nothing and no one will be able to stop Frank once he finds out."
"I believe someone mentioned your sons were very close," Priest stated.
"More than I would like," confessed Fenton slowly. "It will kill Frank if we can't get Joe back."
"I don't think Frank will be the only one," Priest observed in a soft voice. The guilt and pain Fenton felt was etched into his features.
Fenton stood up. "Let Holden know we're starting immediately," he instructed Priest. "Going through with this is the only chance we have of getting Joe back." If it isn't too late, he added silently.
"Good luck," Priest told Fenton, shaking his hand.
It was late the next morning when Fenton arrived home. Frank had been released from the hospital and he hurried to the front door as he heard his father enter the house. "Where's Joe?" demanded Frank. "I thought you were going to get him. You didn't leave him there! McFadden is still loose."
"McFadden is only out on bail," Fenton reminded his son. "And besides," he added in a weary voice. "He's the least of our worries." He looked at Frank's ankle. "You're walking?" he asked in surprise.
"The swelling is gone," Frank answered. "Dr. Bates just told me to elevate it whenever I get the chance and try to avoid running for awhile."
"Fenton, where's Joe?" demanded Laura as Fenton and Frank entered the living room where she had just arrived, having just finished putting a load of clothes in the washer.
"And what about Hartley?" Frank added.
"Hartley is dead," Fenton answered. "He and at least two of McFadden's other men were killed when their plane exploded. Jack asked around and got enough information to confirm that part of the report that Ezra received was true."
"Hold up," Laura ordered. "What report? And where is my son?"
Fenton told them about Ezra's report. "But Joe wasn't on the plane," he added quickly before Laura could faint. He put an arm around her waist and helped her to the sofa. "Joe was abducted from the school by one of the teachers."
"Why?" snapped Frank, his brown eyes hard. He had been kept in the dark long enough.
"A spy?" asked Laura, revealing she knew more than did Frank.
"I'm afraid so," acknowledged Fenton.
"How are you going to get him back?" Laura asked. She refused to entertain the notion that Joe might be dead.
"Frank and I have to leave as soon as I can make the arrangements," Fenton told her. "I have no idea where they have taken him but going ahead with the investigation may lead us to him."
"What investigation?" demanded Frank.
"I'll tell you in my office," Fenton said. "There are some things in my safe that we will need. Laura, would you mind bringing us some sandwiches for lunch? This will take awhile."
Frank followed his dad upstairs and into his office. Once there, he helped search for electronic listening devices at his father's request. Finding none, the two sat down. "Talk," ordered Frank.
"There's a new group of terrorists known as The Scalawags," Fenton began.
"Scalawags?"
"They've been attacking not only our navy but also England's, France's and various other countries," Fenton explained. "They board, take what they want, including the soldiers, and then sink the ship. Some of the soldiers are killed while others are being sold into slave labor."
"You're kidding, right?" Frank demanded in disbelief. "Slavery? Now?"
"It does exist," confirmed his father. "Not legally of course, but there are auctions...private ones. One soldier, Private Millhouse, escaped from his owner and managed to get to a phone. He got through to the American Embassy in Thailand and got a brief message out. There were shots fired and Millhouse's connection was broken. He hasn't been heard from again."
"You think they're going to sell Joe into slavery?" Frank demanded, his pupils small as his eyes widened in horror.
"No, of course not," denied Fenton, avoiding looking Frank in the eyes because that was exactly what he, himself, feared.
A man in his late forties with the stature and mannerisms of a veteran Marine, Arnold Priest was as contrary a man expected of his position, as a worm would be courting a blue jay. He was three inches taller than Fenton's own six-foot frame with balding black hair and sharp hazel eyes. He was a fine physical specimen with square shoulders and a square jaw that looked like it might have had more than its share of attention from an opponent's fist.
"Fenton," Priest greeted him, rising from behind his desk as Fenton entered his spacious office. "You look troubled."
Fenton gave him a wan smile. As formidable as Priest looked and appeared in the public eye, he was as caring and open with his friends as either of Fenton's own sons. "That's putting it mildly," Fenton stated, sinking into an overstuffed chair next to Priest's desk. "There has been a breech," he began. "There was a Sleeper at the boarding school where you had me send Joe. The spy is gone and so is my son."
"Who?" Priest demanded.
"Blake Baldwin," Fenton answered. "He taught gym."
"I'll see what I can find out about him," Priest promised.
"You can try," acknowledged Fenton. "But his setup was perfect. I doubt you will be able to find anything."
Priest was puzzled by Fenton's defeatist attitude but one look into his eyes had him wondering what Fenton knew. "Okay, give," Priest ordered.
"Baldwin was a tool," Fenton answered. "I think we should move ahead with the original plan."
"But you wanted both your sons involved," Priest objected. His curiosity was growing by leaps and bounds but Fenton wasn't giving anything away.
"They will be," continued Fenton. "Joe became involved when he was abducted and nothing and no one will be able to stop Frank once he finds out."
"I believe someone mentioned your sons were very close," Priest stated.
"More than I would like," confessed Fenton slowly. "It will kill Frank if we can't get Joe back."
"I don't think Frank will be the only one," Priest observed in a soft voice. The guilt and pain Fenton felt was etched into his features.
Fenton stood up. "Let Holden know we're starting immediately," he instructed Priest. "Going through with this is the only chance we have of getting Joe back." If it isn't too late, he added silently.
"Good luck," Priest told Fenton, shaking his hand.
It was late the next morning when Fenton arrived home. Frank had been released from the hospital and he hurried to the front door as he heard his father enter the house. "Where's Joe?" demanded Frank. "I thought you were going to get him. You didn't leave him there! McFadden is still loose."
"McFadden is only out on bail," Fenton reminded his son. "And besides," he added in a weary voice. "He's the least of our worries." He looked at Frank's ankle. "You're walking?" he asked in surprise.
"The swelling is gone," Frank answered. "Dr. Bates just told me to elevate it whenever I get the chance and try to avoid running for awhile."
"Fenton, where's Joe?" demanded Laura as Fenton and Frank entered the living room where she had just arrived, having just finished putting a load of clothes in the washer.
"And what about Hartley?" Frank added.
"Hartley is dead," Fenton answered. "He and at least two of McFadden's other men were killed when their plane exploded. Jack asked around and got enough information to confirm that part of the report that Ezra received was true."
"Hold up," Laura ordered. "What report? And where is my son?"
Fenton told them about Ezra's report. "But Joe wasn't on the plane," he added quickly before Laura could faint. He put an arm around her waist and helped her to the sofa. "Joe was abducted from the school by one of the teachers."
"Why?" snapped Frank, his brown eyes hard. He had been kept in the dark long enough.
"A spy?" asked Laura, revealing she knew more than did Frank.
"I'm afraid so," acknowledged Fenton.
"How are you going to get him back?" Laura asked. She refused to entertain the notion that Joe might be dead.
"Frank and I have to leave as soon as I can make the arrangements," Fenton told her. "I have no idea where they have taken him but going ahead with the investigation may lead us to him."
"What investigation?" demanded Frank.
"I'll tell you in my office," Fenton said. "There are some things in my safe that we will need. Laura, would you mind bringing us some sandwiches for lunch? This will take awhile."
Frank followed his dad upstairs and into his office. Once there, he helped search for electronic listening devices at his father's request. Finding none, the two sat down. "Talk," ordered Frank.
"There's a new group of terrorists known as The Scalawags," Fenton began.
"Scalawags?"
"They've been attacking not only our navy but also England's, France's and various other countries," Fenton explained. "They board, take what they want, including the soldiers, and then sink the ship. Some of the soldiers are killed while others are being sold into slave labor."
"You're kidding, right?" Frank demanded in disbelief. "Slavery? Now?"
"It does exist," confirmed his father. "Not legally of course, but there are auctions...private ones. One soldier, Private Millhouse, escaped from his owner and managed to get to a phone. He got through to the American Embassy in Thailand and got a brief message out. There were shots fired and Millhouse's connection was broken. He hasn't been heard from again."
"You think they're going to sell Joe into slavery?" Frank demanded, his pupils small as his eyes widened in horror.
"No, of course not," denied Fenton, avoiding looking Frank in the eyes because that was exactly what he, himself, feared.