"You can't do this," objected Joe as he was led from the hospital room and to the elevator. "That guy in there is a fake; a terrorist," he insisted. "He's dangerous!"
Joe was silenced when a fist connected with his face. Joe tasted the bittersweet blood as it dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. "Please?" Joe tried again. "He could hurt my brother."
"Silence!" snapped one of the officers, rounding on him with blazing dark brown eyes.
"But..." Joe objected only to be met with another blow to his face. This time Joe's teeth bit his tongue hard and blood spurted out of his mouth and he began coughing.
He was hustled off of the elevator, out the front of the hospital and to a waiting car. There he was shoved roughly into the back seat followed by one of the guards who removed a gun from his holster and trained it on him.
"I'm 'n cuss," Joe mumbled through lips that were rapidly swelling. He wanted to ask what they expected him to do in handcuffs but before he could the guard used the gun to hit him on the side of the head. Without another word, Joe blacked out.
Joe moaned and moved his head sideways, groaning as a thousand rockets exploded. "He's coming around," he heard a distinctively American voice say.
"Put him under," came an order issued by the same voice of the man in charge of the hospital complex he had been imprisoned in earlier.
He felt a prick on his left arm and a few seconds later he drifted back into the nothingness from which he had just surfaced.
Thee next time Joe awoke he found himself lying on a full bed in a medium sized bedroom. The curtains were drawn but the lamp by the bedside had been turned on so he could make out his surroundings without any problems. He was still handcuffed except that now he was spread eagle on the bed with each wrist and ankle cuffed to the corner of the bed's brass frame. His mouth tasted like metal despite the dry rag that had been shoved into his mouth and tied at the back of his head.
He looked around the room and could tell it had been professionally decorated because all of the furniture appeared to be out of some picture he had seen and the colors were colonial blue, white, and a sort of off beige. His gaze moved to the door as it opened and a man in a black suit and tie entered. "Good morning," he greeted Joe, coming to stand beside the bed and looking down at the hapless youth. "I do apologize for the brutality you encountered on your trip," he said. "It was quite unnecessary."
Joe glared up at his captor, thinking he knew him from somewhere although he couldn't place him at the moment.
"Don't be too upset," the man begged with the barest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "You are very fortunate that you are still with us," he continued. "You see, we have just decided that you are more of a liability than an asset at the present. But even a condemned man gets a last meal," he added. "What would you care for?" he asked, looking at Joe in pseudo expectation. "You don't care? Well, now, you are easy to please, aren't you?" He gave a small laugh. "Relax," he instructed the incapacitated youth. "It will all be over in a few hours," he added as he turned and left the room.
Joe pulled against the metal cuffs but to no avail. All his actions did were cause his wrists to become bruised. Groaning in frustration, he lay still and glared at the ceiling. He wondered where he was and why they had gone to all the trouble of cloning him. He sighed as he realized he was probably going to die without ever finding out.
Fenton sat silently after hanging up the phone; willing the sense of grief that threatened to overwhelm him to dissipate. Where could his son be? Who were the men who had taken him from the hospital? NO! he thought, sitting up straight. Not who were those men? He needed to know who was responsible. Obviously, they had been planning on making a duplicate of Joe for some time. The question was, how did they know how to get Joe? Who knew the plan to send Joe to the academy?
His forehead wrinkled in thought. What was it Laura had said? It was easy. She was right! The entire case had been too easy. It was almost as if everything that had gone down had been planned. But by whom? Who would benefit from him working on this case? Who would benefit by having a spy in his home?
Fenton's face tightened in ill-concealed rage. Of course! The mystery had been a deception. It was all a plan to divert his attention from the case he had been working on before this alleged terrorist threat came into existence. Once it was solved he would be expected to go back to his original case and having a spy in his home would benefit the culprit. The imposter would keep them apprised of his investigation so that they would always be one step ahead of him. But the question remained: Who was behind it? And an even more pressing question: Would he be able to find out whom in time to save his son's life?
Joe was silenced when a fist connected with his face. Joe tasted the bittersweet blood as it dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. "Please?" Joe tried again. "He could hurt my brother."
"Silence!" snapped one of the officers, rounding on him with blazing dark brown eyes.
"But..." Joe objected only to be met with another blow to his face. This time Joe's teeth bit his tongue hard and blood spurted out of his mouth and he began coughing.
He was hustled off of the elevator, out the front of the hospital and to a waiting car. There he was shoved roughly into the back seat followed by one of the guards who removed a gun from his holster and trained it on him.
"I'm 'n cuss," Joe mumbled through lips that were rapidly swelling. He wanted to ask what they expected him to do in handcuffs but before he could the guard used the gun to hit him on the side of the head. Without another word, Joe blacked out.
Joe moaned and moved his head sideways, groaning as a thousand rockets exploded. "He's coming around," he heard a distinctively American voice say.
"Put him under," came an order issued by the same voice of the man in charge of the hospital complex he had been imprisoned in earlier.
He felt a prick on his left arm and a few seconds later he drifted back into the nothingness from which he had just surfaced.
Thee next time Joe awoke he found himself lying on a full bed in a medium sized bedroom. The curtains were drawn but the lamp by the bedside had been turned on so he could make out his surroundings without any problems. He was still handcuffed except that now he was spread eagle on the bed with each wrist and ankle cuffed to the corner of the bed's brass frame. His mouth tasted like metal despite the dry rag that had been shoved into his mouth and tied at the back of his head.
He looked around the room and could tell it had been professionally decorated because all of the furniture appeared to be out of some picture he had seen and the colors were colonial blue, white, and a sort of off beige. His gaze moved to the door as it opened and a man in a black suit and tie entered. "Good morning," he greeted Joe, coming to stand beside the bed and looking down at the hapless youth. "I do apologize for the brutality you encountered on your trip," he said. "It was quite unnecessary."
Joe glared up at his captor, thinking he knew him from somewhere although he couldn't place him at the moment.
"Don't be too upset," the man begged with the barest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "You are very fortunate that you are still with us," he continued. "You see, we have just decided that you are more of a liability than an asset at the present. But even a condemned man gets a last meal," he added. "What would you care for?" he asked, looking at Joe in pseudo expectation. "You don't care? Well, now, you are easy to please, aren't you?" He gave a small laugh. "Relax," he instructed the incapacitated youth. "It will all be over in a few hours," he added as he turned and left the room.
Joe pulled against the metal cuffs but to no avail. All his actions did were cause his wrists to become bruised. Groaning in frustration, he lay still and glared at the ceiling. He wondered where he was and why they had gone to all the trouble of cloning him. He sighed as he realized he was probably going to die without ever finding out.
Fenton sat silently after hanging up the phone; willing the sense of grief that threatened to overwhelm him to dissipate. Where could his son be? Who were the men who had taken him from the hospital? NO! he thought, sitting up straight. Not who were those men? He needed to know who was responsible. Obviously, they had been planning on making a duplicate of Joe for some time. The question was, how did they know how to get Joe? Who knew the plan to send Joe to the academy?
His forehead wrinkled in thought. What was it Laura had said? It was easy. She was right! The entire case had been too easy. It was almost as if everything that had gone down had been planned. But by whom? Who would benefit from him working on this case? Who would benefit by having a spy in his home?
Fenton's face tightened in ill-concealed rage. Of course! The mystery had been a deception. It was all a plan to divert his attention from the case he had been working on before this alleged terrorist threat came into existence. Once it was solved he would be expected to go back to his original case and having a spy in his home would benefit the culprit. The imposter would keep them apprised of his investigation so that they would always be one step ahead of him. But the question remained: Who was behind it? And an even more pressing question: Would he be able to find out whom in time to save his son's life?