Once the men were gone, Frank closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He heard a whimper from his brother, and realized the younger boy was trying hard not to cry aloud, and not quite succeeding. "It's okay," Frank said, wincing a bit as he struggled to sit up. Using his feet, he scootched himself closer to his brother; close enough to touch. Joe sniffled and curled up next to Frank, shivering a little in damp basement.
"Who are they?" Joe asked plaintively. "Why'd they kidnap us? What do they want?"
"I-I dunno," Frank said. "Did they hurt you?"
"N-no...just a little when we were fighting. You?"
"Not real bad...I think that jerk sprained my wrist, though," said Frank, grimacing a little as he mentioned it. He had been keeping his arms from moving much, but it still hurt.
Joe sniffled again, but his voice was indignant. "That jerk! Boy...I wish I'd bit him harder!"
"Yeah, I saw his hand."
"Yeah." There was a sort of savage satisfaction in the child's voice.
The two boys were silent for a little while, as there was not a whole lot more they could think of to say. And then: "My arms hurt."
Frank sighed. "I know. Mine too. I-I guess it's from being tied up." The boy paused, and moved away from Joe a little bit. "Hold on a sec," he said. "Maybe...maybe I can -" Frank cut off and there was the sound of some struggling, some grunting, a hiss of pain, and then Frank's voice, through clenched teeth. "I can't get my hands in front. Maybe you can, Joe, you're more flexible."
"I-okay," said Joe. "I'll try."
Turned out that Joe did manage, through a lot of effort, to maneuver his hands underneath his hind end, and over his legs and feet. "I did it!" he gasped.
"Great!" Frank enthused. "Good job! Great...get your feet untied, then see if you can untie me, okay?"
"O-okay."
Frank and Joe had not experienced serious danger before this moment, but it was clear that the courage and instinct was strong with them. They were very scared, but they could control the fear enough to try and do what they had to. However, the knots were tight, and Joe's fingers were not strong enough to get them untied. He had to use his teeth to free his hands, and was about to do the same for the ropes around his ankles when the door above opened.
The Hardy brothers gasped, looking up in alarm as they were caught red-handed, as it were. The man that had opened the door, Jake, looked surprised for a moment and then laughed quietly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You are Fenton Hardy's brats, after all."
Joe scowled, but didn't say anything.
"Doesn't matter, I guess, you were to be untied, anyway. You'll be down here a while, wouldn't want you to not be able to eat, and starve to death just yet now would we?" Jake smiled a nasty little smile, as he descended the stairs. Frank and Joe had not missed the "just yet" part of that comment.
The boys shrank back from Jake as he approached, but all he did was kneel down and work off the ropes around Joe's ankles, and pull him to his feet. "Upstairs, kid. There's someone who wants to talk to you."
"Hey hold on!" Frank protested, finding himself fearful to be separated from his brother.
"Shut up brat, he'll be back down if he doesn't tick me off too badly." He dragged Joe towards the stairs.
Joe limped at first, as he had stiffened up from being bound so long, but he didn't fight quite yet. Even if he got free, he would not leave without his brother, so there was no sense in fighting. Instead, he glared.
The boy was dragged up into the main room, the living room they had passed before getting to the basement door. The man let go his iron grip on Joe's arm as he pulled him over to a table with a phone on it. Greasy-Hair was there as well, holding the receiver of the phone. "Here, brat," Greasy-Hair said. "Someone wants to talk to you."
Joe looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and looked at the phone. His dad or mom, he thought. It had to be one of his parents. As eager as he was to speak to either of them, it occurred to him that the men wanted him to speak to his parents, probably to prove that yes, they had the boys captive. Joe crossed his arms, scowled, and looked up at Jake with the most stubborn look he could muster.
"Well?" Greasy-Hair growled. "I don't have all day kid, take the blasted phone."
Joe's scowl deepened, and he shook his head.
Greasy-Hair narrowed his eyes. "Stubborn little brat!"
Behind Joe, a thunderous look of anger came over Jake's face. He considered flinging the kid against the wall and getting the other kid up here to talk, but instead he took something out of his pocket. It was a cigarette lighter, one that had a little wire coil that heated up, that could be used when it was windy. He clicked this on, and pressed the little red-hot wire against Joe's arm.
Obviously not having expected this, Joe yelped and jerked away from the lighter, spinning around to see what it was that had just hurt him. He saw Jake holding the still-lit lighter, smirking at him. "Owww, that hurt, you jerk!" Joe cried.
Jake clicked off the lighter. "It was supposed to. Now get on the friggin' phone before I do worse to you."
Joe clenched his fists, and glanced down at his arm. There was a small burn there, the shape of the lighter's wire coil. "Fine," he said, snatching the phone from Greasy-Hair's hand. "H-hello?"
"Joe? Joe, are you all right?" It was Fenton Hardy, and he sounded worried.
Joe considered saying that no, he was not all right, but even he could tell that his dad was very worried. "Yeah...just mad."
"Did they hurt you? Where's Frank?"
"No, just a little...Frank's downstairs, they – hey!" Joe's sentence ended in a furious outcry as the phone was jerked from his hands. "Give it back!"
"Get him back downstairs," Jake growled, then turned his attention back to the phone. "That's enough, Hardy, you know we're not screwing around."
Greasy-Hair grabbed Joe's arm and dragged him back towards the basement door. "Not fair, you didn't lemme talk, let go!" Joe protested, again fighting.
The man said nothing, only shoved the boy in through the door, and slammed it. Joe stumbled, very nearly falling down the stairs, and had to catch himself on the railing. He heard the door locked, and once he had his balance, kicked the door as hard as he could.
Weeping a little again, he felt around for a light switch. He did find one, and the basement was lit brightly by the bare bulb on the ceiling. Joe saw his brother, still tied up, in the center of the floor, and crept downstairs to him.
"Are you okay?" Frank asked concernedly.
"Yeah..." Joe scowled and rubbed the burn on his arm. "That jerk put a burn on me though, I gotta kick him where it counts for that."
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Frank laughed a little. "Don't bother, there's nothing there."
Joe blinked, but then understood what the comment had meant. Despite himself, he laughed a little, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, bet neither of them do." He knelt down beside Frank and worked on getting the ropes off his hands. It took him a great deal of time, and he had to use his teeth, but he finally managed it.
Frank brought his aching arms in front of him and stretched a little, then looked at his injured arm. It's sprained, all right, he thought. Just like when I hurt it at Scout camp that one time. He had sprained his other wrist then, having fallen down a short incline during a hike. The boy's wrist was swollen, and a little bruised, and had the imprints of the rope on it. "Ow," he said, his voice unsteady.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it just hurts." Frank sighed and stood up, looking around the basement.
There was not a whole lot to see. The unfinished basement had a bare, cracked cement floor and cinderblock walls. It was not much bigger than a standard bedroom, and there was nothing in it except a support pole in the middle. There were pipes sticking out of the wall where a washer and a dryer were supposed to be, but there was neither there.
"This sucks," Frank said dismally, sitting down again. He had paced the room a few times, but soon tired of that.
"Yeah." Joe wiped his eyes and curled up next to Frank, who put an arm around him.
"Dad'll find us. Or the cops will," Frank reassured him. Fenton Hardy was one of the best detectives in the east, maybe the whole country! Certainly he could find him and Joe before the bad guys did something undesirable.
At the Hardy household, Fenton slammed the phone down on the receiver in an unusual show of temper. He turned to Laura and Gertrude, who were both in his study with him. They had worried when the boys didn't come home from school when they usually did, and when they were two hours late, Fenton had gone out looking for them. When he came home empty-handed, he and Laura made the decision to call the police.
They had not had the chance to call anyone, however, as the phone had rung. Fenton answered it, and was shocked and furious to hear a voice on the other end telling him that they had his sons, and if he wanted to see them breathing again, he had better back off in his investigation. Fenton had demanded to speak to one of them, proof as it were. And that had been granted.
Whichever of his sons they had brought up, he refused to speak at first, and Fenton thought with a sort of distracted fondness that it must be Joe. When he heard him cry out, though, he had begun to shake in anger at the thought that someone had just hurt his son. They had not spoken for nearly long enough, Fenton thought. Afterwards, the man who called repeated his warning: stop investigating and once they'd completed their business, the boys would be left somewhere, and directions to their location sent to the Hardys. Refuse, and directions to one of the boy's bodies would be sent. Refuse further, and... well Fenton got the idea. How would he be sure that the boys remained unharmed, though? When he asked that, the man had agreed to let the boys talk to him, briefly, once each day.
"Fenton, are they all right?" Laura asked, her facial features taut with worry.
"Yes," Fenton said.
"What-what did they want?"
Fenton sighed. "What I expected. They want me to stop investigating."
Aunt Gertrude made a sound of indignation. "Some nerve!" she exclaimed, scowling wrathfully. Sharp tongue or not, she was fond of her nephews, and the idea that someone had kidnapped them infuriated her. Fenton had the fleeting notion that he should just send his sister after the kidnappers. "Well, did you get a trace on them?"
"No," said Fenton. "My equipment's not exactly top of the line, and they were not on the phone long enough."
"Well," said Gertrude. "Why aren't we calling the police, then?"
Fenton shot her a look. "We are," he said. "I'm their father, don't you think I'll be doing everything I can to get them back?" He picked the phone up again, calling the police station.
Gertrude made a "hmph" sort of noise, but backed off. Unfortunately, she often seemed to think that she was the only one in the household who could think and act sensibly.
Laura sighed. "Come on, Gertrude, I could use a cup of tea. Would you like one?"
"Yes, yes I suppose that would sit well," the older woman agreed, and the two left Fenton alone in his study.
"Chief," said a voice. "There's a phone call for you." It was the desk sergeant, sounding happy to have something to do. It had been, thankfully, very quiet in the office as of late.
"Who is it?" growled the voice from the office. As usual, the chief was busy, and his mood surly.
"It's that dick, Fenton Hardy," came the voice.
There was silence for a moment, and then the chief strode out of his office, scowling. "'Dick', sergeant?" he said, his tone that of disbelief. "Did I hear you call Fenton Hardy a dick?"
The young sergeant looked blankly at the chief for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "Oh! No, no, not that kind of a -" The young sergeant's face went red. "Um, no, you know, a dick, a detective, you know, chief. A private eye."
Chief Collig looked at the man for a moment evenly, and then finally shook his head. "You've been reading too many old detective stories, sergeant," he finally said. "From now on, refrain from using your mystery novel slang in this office."
The sergeant turned yet redder. "Yes, sir," he said, sitting down again behind the tall desk.
Wondering why it was he had to baby-sit today, Chief Collig walked back into his office, hit a button on his phone, and connected with his call. "Hardy? Collig here."
"Good to hear you, Chief," came the voice. Fenton sounded tense and upset, and Collig paid full attention. "Ezra, my boys have been kidnapped."
"What? You're joking," said Collig, frowning.
"Afraid not. I wish I were."
"Crap... Okay, Hardy, give me all the info you can, I'll get someone working on it."
Fenton relayed the story to Chief Collig, starting with the boys being late home from school, and ending with the phone call.
"And you couldn't get a trace?" Collig asked.
"No, he wasn't on the line long enough. My tracing equipment isn't fast enough. But he will call the same time tomorrow and let me speak to them."
"Okay, first thing I'll do, then, is send a couple of officers over to set up some better equipment, in case they call again. Did you hear anything in the background? Cars, planes, anything?"
"No." Fenton's voice sounded frustrated. "Nothing. The connection wasn't fabulous, but even so..." Fenton trailed off, and then said, "Actually, it seemed to me that they might have been somewhere away from the city. Quiet, bad connection."
Collig nodded. "Quite possible. And so this has something to do with your current case. Hold off investigating it, at least for a day or two. See if we can't find the boys and get them safe before you continue. Is it a matter of lives at stake if you don't solve it quickly?"
"No, it's not, not so far as we know. I'll contact my client and explain the situation. I knew him way back when. I'm sure he'll understand."
"Good. Okay, Fenton, hang tight, all right? We'll get them back."
"Thanks, chief."
Fenton hung up the phone and put his head into his hands. In all the years he had worked in law enforcement, he himself had been at risk of harm, but had never thought that his family would be truly at risk. They had been threatened, of course, but he had always been able to protect them; so he thought. "Guess I was just lucky 'til now," he muttered to himself.
There was a shadow in the doorway. Startled, Fenton looked up to see his wife there, a steaming cup in her hands. "Made some tea if you want," said Laura.
Fenton managed a sort of smile, and nodded. "Thanks, Laura. This is just -"
Laura came in and put an arm around him. "We'll get them back," she said softly, closing her eyes. Fenton could tell she was shaking, and put his own arms around her. They stood that way for a few moments before Fenton sat back down at his desk and took a small sip of the hot tea.
"You staying in here?"
"Yes," Fenton said. "The chief's sending over some equipment, and an officer will be present the next time they call," Fenton said.
"Okay. I'll be in the living room if you need me, okay?"
"Okay, Laura. Thank you."
Fifteen minutes later, a knock on the door was answered by Gertrude, who stood back to let the officer inside. It was the desk sergeant and a police detective, who had been sent with the trace equipment to the Hardy home. They were directed to Fenton's study, and greeted by Fenton, who stood to shake hands.
"I'm Detective Berkley, and this is Sergeant Hanscom."
Fenton smiled a bit. "The sergeant and I know each other."
"Good. All right, I'm here to set up this tracer on your telephone, I am told the kidnappers will call back tomorrow afternoon?"
Fenton nodded. "Yes, they're letting me talk to Frank and Joe then, about the same time as today. Three PM or so." He stood back and let the detective go about attaching and connecting the equipment. "Okay," said the detective finally, stepping back. "Sergeant Hanscom is gonna test this out, by calling from the squad car. This tracer is a good deal faster than yours, and it should work after a minute of conversation."
The sergeant left the house, and a moment later, the phone rang. Fenton picked it up. "Hardy residence."
"Hey, Mr. Hardy, it's me," said Hanscom. You doin' okay?"
"As okay as I can under the circumstances."
"Understandable. All right, we have to stay on the line for a minute, literally, and we'll see if the trace works."
After a minute of conversation, there was a beep from the tracer. The detective looked down at the little screen, and nodded. "Okay, it's working just fine."
Fenton relayed this to the sergeant, who acknowledged, and hung up. Soon he had joined the other two men in the study.
"All right," said Detective Berkley. "We'll be back tomorrow, around two o'clock. Hopefully we can get a lock on their location."
Fenton nodded, and shook the man's hand. "Thanks, detective," he said. "I really appreciate it."
"Hey, anytime, Hardy. All right, hang in there, we'll get them back." He clapped Fenton briefly on the shoulder, and then he and Hanscom left the room.
That night, Fenton went to bed late, but Laura was still awake, waiting for him. She didn't say anything, just held him. Neither got much sleep that night.