Concordia, it turned out, was the name of a brand new community a little ways outside of Woodstock. How fitting, Fenton thought with a wry grin. Drug dealers near Woodstock. Fenton was too young to have gone to Woodstock, but he knew quite a few people who had. Very few remembered much of the concert. Wonder why? he mused with a sort of wry amusement.
Concordia was a place for the well-to-do, that was evident. He strolled casually about the community, asking a question or two here and there, and keeping his keen eyes out for trouble or suspicious individuals.
He found neither, as it turned out, but a few of the people he talked to mentioned a strange sort of compound on the outskirts. "Some sort of government facility," one woman guessed, shrugging. "Seems like it, anyway. Guards, and all. Reminds me of Offutt Airforce Base, back home." Fenton knew that the Offutt base was in Nebraska.
A well-guarded complex? Now that seemed like a distinct possibility. But Fenton could do no more in-depth investigation on his own. It was time to contact Chief Collig. After all, Collig had undercover agents of his own, and many of them had access to equipment far better than Fenton's. And the kidnappers won't recognize them, I hope, Fenton thought as he headed back towards Bayport. He called the chief on his cell phone, and gave him a brief run-down of what he had found out. Tonight, the chief promised, he would sent out a small team to check things out under the cover of darkness. "It might take a few days to get enough information and reasonable doubt about the place to warrant a raid on the place," he said. "But once we do get that information, we should be able to shut the place down, and get your boys out of there."
"I hope so," Fenton said quietly. He thanked the chief and hung up. He had spent the entire day investigating, and was trying hard not to exceed the speed limit as he drove home. He could not help imagining all manner of horrible things happening to his children. Aside from the fears that the kidnappers had already killed them, he was afraid that his sons were being abused, or mistreated. He knew that he was very likely overreacting, but after that last phone call...
Fenton shook his head hard, as if to shake these imaginings from his mind. "No," he growled to himself. "No, don't think that. The boys are tough, and they will be all right." It helped. A little.
There was not very much that Fenton could do from that point on. Collig did promise that he would be allowed to accompany the police on the raid once it happened, but until then, Fenton had to do the hardest thing: wait.
Every day, Fenton called the station, wanting an update on how the case was going. He knew this was probably annoying Chief Collig, but the chief was being incredibly patient with the worried father. Laura spent a lot of some reassuring her husband, even as worried as she herself was. Even Gertrude was a help, keeping the household running smoothly, cooking most of the meals, and making sure that everyone ate right. She even kept her curt manner curbed, which both Hardy parents appreciated a great deal.
As it turned out, the investigation did not take as many days as Collig had predicted. The team got lucky on the second day, and actually witnessed a shipment coming in, a shipment that they overheard the workers talking about. And so, the raid was planned, and Fenton was notified. It would take place the next night. That makee six days my kids will have been in the hands of a bunch of ruthless drug runners, Fenton thought that night as he tried to sleep. And he hoped to God that they would be all right by the time he caught up to them. He tried very hard not to think about what could go wrong on this raid; the more time went by, the larger chance he wouldn't see his children again alive.
Frank and Joe were not happy. After their less than charming conversation with Greasy-Hair, the kidnappers had said very little to the pair the entire time. There was always someone watching them, either right outside the cell, or at the door leading into the cell block. So far as the boys could tell, they were the only ones there. Any questions about what the place was and why it had jail cells in it were ignored. On the other hand, they boys themselves avoided talking about anything when their captors could hear; if they wouldn't give the Hardys information, the Hardys weren't going to give them information!
Boredom was a big problem; Joe paced the cell on an almost constant basis, being the more hyperactive and impatient of the two. Frank did not pace nearly so often, but it was clear that he, too, was desperate to get out of the hated cell.
Word games and storytelling only occupied them so far, and they were both going stir crazy, just like before. To make matters worse, they were only getting fed once a day now, and the cuffs on the boys' ankles rubbed enough against their skin that it had opened raw scrapes. Joe only had some minor irritations, as he still had his sneakers and socks, but Frank was barefoot and had no protection from the metal edges. He considered complaining about it, but then he thought about his enemies knowing that he was uncomfortable, and he decided not to grouse about it. Frank was not normally the stubborn one, but on the few times he got the urge, his mulishness could rival Joe's.
Greasy-Hair did try to find out a couple more times what the boys knew about the operation, but both played dumb, and after a while, they doggedly ignored any questions, and replied instead with a stony glare. Greasy-Hair gave up by the end of the first day.
At the closing of the third day, Frank was sleeping on the cot, curled up under the blanket, and stirring uneasily in his sleep. Joe was standing near the sink, his arms crossed, a peevish scowl on his face. Jake, the one guarding the boys that night, sat outside the cell, smirking at the irritable child.
It was nearly ten o'clock when it happened; two groups of SWAT personnel moved in on the place in full force; spreading out through the compound, subduing anyone found within, and breaking into any building that was locked. There was gunfire, eventually, and a lot of shouting...
Fenton Hardy, Chief Collig, and a few of Bayport's police officers were there with the SWAT teams. Fenton's senses were on hyper alert, his eyes darting about, catching everything that crossed his eyesight. Fenton was not entirely interested in most of the raid, focusing instead on finding his children in all the chaos. "I'm going to look for my sons!" Fenton called over the din.
Collig nodded tersely, wishing Fenton luck, and the detective peeled off from the main group. Most of the inhabitants of the compound were quite busy enough with the raiding law, and so Fenton was allowed to go on his way with no trouble. He frowned, taking a moment to compose himself and let his training take over a little bit. He pushed his worry for his children out of his head, made his ears muted to the sound of the gunplay and the commotion. Finally he continued, a look of sheer, grim determination on his face.
Fenton skulked quietly around the compound, looking for the slightest clue that might tell him where his sons were being held captive. Finally, his trained eyes happened upon a smear of dirt on the edge of a door, dirt that upon closer examination ended up being dried mud. It was low, too low for an adult to have put it there unless his legs brushed the doorjamb, and that seemed a little bit unlikely. It seemed a very vague clue, but it was all that Fenton had to work with.
He crept around the building, looking it over very carefully. It seemed far sturdier than the other buildings, make of brick and stone, rather than wood. There were no windows, only the one door, and that was made of steel. This, if any, Fenton thought, would be where they kept any prisoners.
The cellblock where the boys were being held was far enough below the ground that none of the noise from the raid could be heard, and so for the moment, its current tenants and their guard knew nothing of the raid. Soon, though, Jake got a call on his radio.
Outside, Fenton considered his silent steel adversary. There was obviously no way he was going to break down a steel door, and when he tried it, it was locked. "Of course," he muttered, pulling out a small lockpick from his jacket pocket. He pulled out one of the tools, a fairly small one, as the keyhole was not very big. After a few minutes, however, he smiled as a subtle click let him know that he had succeeded in picking the lock.
The place was not very big, at first glance. The room was about the size of a medium bedroom, with rough carpeting, brick walls, and what looked like elevator doors at one end. He walked over to them, shrugged, and pushed the button. The elevator dinged softly as he began its ascent back to the top.
Fenton drew his gun, stepped backward and to the left of the doors, and crouched slightly, ready for anything. As it turned out, he needed have bothered; the elevator was empty. Seeing this, he stepped inside and looked at the buttons. Only two, he saw. Down and up. The up button didn't get him anywhere, but the down button closed the doors and sent the elevator car sliding downwards.
It was a long ride, quite longer than one floor. Whatever was here was far underground, and Fenton's intuition said that this was the correct place.
The elevator stopped gently, the doors opened, and Fenton stepped out cautiously, his weapon still drawn. There was a short hallway in front of him, gray stone on either side, with a windowless steel door that Fenton guessed led to some sort of secure area. If this is not the place, he thought, then I have wasted a lot of time.
Taking a big breath and stepping forward, Fenton tried the handle. As Jake had no reason to bar the cellblock itself from outside visitors, it swung in on silent, well-oiled hinges.
Jake's back was to the door, and he frowned, holding his radio up to his ear. "What is it?" he asked, his voice surly. In the cell, Frank stirred, roused by Jake's annoyed voice. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, to see Joe giving him a very uncertain look. The younger boy's gut was giving him a very bad feeling.
It was the boss' voice. "All right, Jake, the cops are raiding the place, and we're bailing out, those of us that can, that is. Get rid of the boys and meet us at helipad. If you're not there in five minutes, we're leaving without you."
Jake nodded, his expression grim. In the cell, the brothers grabbed onto each other, their faces contorted with panic. Surely that didn't mean that he was going to kill them, did it?
Jake unlocked the cell door and slid it open, taking out his handgun and raised the weapon...
"NO!" Fenton Hardy cried, sprinting forward with all the speed he could muster. He could have shot the man, but the sickening fear that one of his sons was about to be shot had pushed rational thought from his mind. Badly startled, Jake spun around, his back now to the boys' cell, his eyes wide with alarm. As Fenton closed distance, the man growled, snapping his arm up to aim the barrel of the gun at Fenton's chest, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed badly in the enclosed cellblock, making the boys scream, and even making Jake wince at the noise. Fenton sprawled backwards as if he'd been hit with a two-by four, and lay still. Jake smirked and turned back to the cell, where Frank and Joe stared, horrified, at their father so suddenly lying on the concrete floor.
It was clear that Jake intended to put a bullet in the boys as well, but he had not counted on the sheer fury that possessed the older one at the cold-blooded murder. Frank loosed an incoherent cry of grief and rage, and lunged at the man. He fell short, as Jake had the sense to stay out of the range of the chains that bound the boys, but the utter hatred in Frank's eyes had startled him for a moment.
However, this moment was all that was needed. Seemingly defying death, Fenton stood behind Jake, lunging forward to tackle the kidnapper to the floor. Taken by surprise, Jake went down, and began fighting to free his gun hand. However, Fenton's anger and his skill were quite enough to keep from getting shot a second time, and after only a minute or so, Jake howled as Fenton broke his trigger finger, wrenching the weapon from his grasp. After that, it was not so difficult a task to get the man subdued and cuffed.
At that moment, as Frank and Joe stared unbelievingly, the elevator doors opened once more and Chief Collig and two of the Bayport police came rushing into the cell block. Collig looked the situation over then nodded, motioning to his officers to holster their weapons. "Well done, Hardy," Collig said quietly, approaching the detective. "Go ahead," he said, nodding towards the cell. "We'll take care of him."
Fenton needed no further invitation. He stowed his own weapon and ran into the cell, drawing both boys into a grateful embrace. "Thank God," he whispered as he held them tightly.
Joe burst into tears and clung to his father, but Frank only stared for a moment. "B-but I-I thought...I thought he -" He also began to cry, the shock of seeing what he had thought was his father's murder sinking in.
"It's all right," Fenton whispered, smoothing back Frank's hair. "It's okay, Frank, I'm wearing a vest, a bulletproof vest. It didn't hurt me, just knocked me down. It's okay, I'm okay." The vest had protected him from serious harm, it was true, but it had been a fairly powerful firearm, and a very close range. He was going to have a heck of a bruise, and possibly a fracture.
It was only then that Frank also clung to his father, feeling almost faint with the relief that everything would be all right.
After several minutes, Fenton reluctantly released his desperate embrace. "Let me get those chains off your legs," he said, showing only a fraction of the anger he felt as seeing what had been done to his children. Frank nodded and let go, holding out his leg for Fenton to remove the cuffs. As any standard handcuff key would fit them, Fenton was able to get them loose.
Frank was freed, but Joe was entirely unwilling to surrender his grasp on Fenton. Fenton did not try to convince him, only shifted his position so he could get to the restraint. Soon, both boys were unfettered, and once again holding onto their father as if he might fly from their grasp.
"Come on, boys," said Fenton quietly, carefully standing up. He kept his arms around Frank and Joe. "Come on, kids, let's get out of here, eh?"
He got absolutely no argument from the boys as he led them from the cellblock. He shot Collig a look of sheer gratitude as they passed him. "I'm going to take the boys to get checked out by a doctor," he told the chief. "I know you'll need their statements about the whole thing, but can it wait?"
"Absolutely," Collig said with a bit of a smile. He let the Hardys use the elevator to leave the building before he and the other two officers transported their prisoner up.
Things seemed to have happened fairly fast above, and what criminals had not been shoved into squad cars and prisoner transports were on their bellies with their hands cuffed behind them or clasped on their heads. The Hardys paid little attention to this as they headed for Fenton's car and got inside.
Both Frank and Joe wanted to sit up front with their father, and so Fenton got them both in the front seat, and buckled them in. He sent off a quick call on his cell phone to Laura, telling her the boys were safe and they were on their way to the doctor's, and then home. Laura mentioned that the doctor's offices were closed, and Fenton said he would take them to the emergency room, then, as he did want them looked over tonight. She said all right, and that she would meet them at home.
Once that was done, Fenton looked the boys over. "Are you two all right?" he asked quietly. He looked mostly at Joe as he said this.
"I-I'm okay," said Frank. "Just a little sore. And hungry."
Joe shrugged, looking a bit dazed. "I'm okay now," he said. "Just...I just kinda hurt." He looked at Fenton. "Hurt is more than sore," he explained." He had had three days to heal some, and although his skin was colorful, the swelling had gone down and the welts weren't raised anymore.
Fenton nodded. "Understandable. I'm still gonna take you to get looked over, okay? Then we'll go home, get you cleaned up, get some good food in you." He noted the look of eagerness at this idea, and he wondered just how well they'd been fed the last three days. He started up the car and left.
During the three hour trip back to Bayport, Fenton listened as his sons relayed to him the entire story of what had happened on the last day of school. Fenton listened, encouraging them by not interrupting, and simply listening to their tale. He was very angry at the boys' mistreatment, but he did not show this to his sons.
When they finished, Fenton laid a hand on Joe's head, as he was closest the driver's seat. "Boys, I'm very proud of you," he said. "You showed real courage, and real cleverness too, escaping like you did. Your escape led us to some important clues." The boys beamed at this praise, and Fenton went on. "The people that kidnapped you will be put in jail, and so will most of the people that were there. You know what they were doing, right?"
"I-I thought they might be smugglers, or...or maybe they were running guns or something," Frank said.
"Those are excellent guesses," said Fenton. "But it wasn't weapons, it was drugs. That was one of the biggest drug rings around this area in a very long time. And you guys helped take them down." Again, he was rewarded by the smiles of his boys, Joe's more smug, Frank's a bit more shy. Fenton sighed. "But for now, we're getting food, rest, and a bit of medical attention."
Once back in Bayport, Fenton did indeed take the boys into the emergency room of the local hospital, one that the Hardys always used if anyone were in need of one. It was a slow night, and so although it was not an emergency, a medic who introduced himself as Doctor Carls came to look at the boys fairly quickly. They were seated up on an examination cot, while the doctor gave them a thorough once-over. Frank had come through with only a few bruises and his sprained arm, which the doctor put an Ace bandage around. "I expect you not to use that arm a lot for the next few days, son," he said to Frank. "For about a week, in fact. After that, just be careful. It should be mostly healed, but only you know when it's not sore anymore." Frank nodded his acknowledgement.
Joe was looked over a little more intensely, as it was obvious he'd been through worse. Carls had Joe take off his shirt, and looked him over from head to toe. "I'd actually like to get some x-rays on him," he said to Fenton, after Joe told him his sides hurt. "He might have a few fractures."
Fenton agreed, and Joe was taken down to the room. Frank had wanted to go along, but was told that only the patient and the doctor were allowed in the rooms where the x-rays were being taken. Another doctor had taken Joe to the x-ray chamber, and so Doctor Carls spent some time explaining to Frank how the x-rays worked, and why it was dangerous for other people to be in there. Frank understood, he supposed, but he still disliked being separated from his brother, especially after what they had been through.
But of course Joe was returned safe and sound, and was lifted back up onto the bed. "Well, it'll be a little while before the x-rays come through, but otherwise young Joe here will be all right. It seems he's mostly got bruises. They've both got some lacerations on their ankle, but they're not infected, I'll just clean them really well and bandage them. Other than the physical injuries, they're a bit malnourished and exhausted. They could use some food and a lot of rest."
Fenton nodded. "Thanks, Doctor," he said, as Doctor Carls went about cleaning the raw scrapes on the boys' ankles.
"You're very welcome," said the doctor as he finished up. "I'm gonna go check on those x-rays."
He left the Hardys alone, and Fenton went over and put his arms around the brothers. "You've no idea how relieved and grateful I am that we found you," he said. "I was terrified down in that cell block. I was terrified I wouldn't get to you in time."
Frank nodded. "U-us too."
The older boy sighed and leaned against his father, but Joe stared in astonishment. "You were afraid?"
"Absolutely. Yes, grown-ups can be afraid. It happens a lot more than most people think." He chuckled a bit, gently ruffling Joe's hair.
"Oh..." Joe yawned, and looked blearily around. He really wanted to sleep. "Are...are you okay?" he asked.
Fenton nodded. "Yes, I am." He would investigate the damage he had taken later, but he was beginnign to think he would only bruise from the gunshot he'd taken. He thanked the powers that were for the one who had invented bulletproof vests.
The doctor came back then and proclaimed Joe free of fractures. "Remember," he said to the boys. "Rest."
"We will," Frank said as Fenton helped them down from the bed.
The doctor nodded, and shook their hands. "Take care then, okay? I don't want to see you in here again." He winked at them, and waved as they left the room.
The scene at the Hardys' home was a bit chaotic. Laura cried, and hugged her sons, and spent several moments thanking God for their safe return. Gertrude fussed over them, insisting that they needed to get cleaned up before they got sick, and that they needed some food in them, good, healthy food. Frank and Joe let themselves be passed around for a bit, and both were greedily taking in the sight of their own living room. Joe began to cry a little again, and Frank simply let himself be grateful.
Once the chaos settled a little bit, Laura did look her boys over thoroughly, expressed her anger at how they'd been treated, and then began to usher them upstairs. While Frank took his turn in the bath, she went about getting some clean clothes, hesitated, and got out their pajamas. They were comfortable and light. Joe sat on Frank's bed and watched wearily. Laura kept going over to him to hug him, or brush his hair from his forehead, or kiss his brow. While under most circumstances, Joe would at least complain about such treatment, today he was more than willing to receive it. When Frank got out of the bath, his hair damp, he looked one hundred percent better. Joe looked absolutely filthy in comparison. He crept into the bath while Frank got dressed in his pajamas.
Very soon, everyone was seated at the table, eating a good, hot meal provided by Aunt Gertrude. The brothers ate ravenously, and both of them had seconds. Joe even had thirds, and ended up stuffing himself silly. He didn't mind, though, it was nice to feel full! And no one told them to slow down or not to eat too much, either.
Little was said of the boys' adventures at the table. Frank and Joe were too busy eating, and the adults were too busy reassuring themselves that the children were home, safe.
After dessert, which consisted of an upside down cake that Gertrude had made, the boys were just about falling asleep at the table. They were both guided upstairs, where they were put to bed. Joe said he wanted to sleep with Frank, and Frank readily agreed. Once the boys were tucked into the warm bed, Laura went back down to where her husband still sat at the table, his head in one hand. "Come on, Fenton," said Laura quietly. "Let's get to bed. There'll be time tomorrow for stories. I'll want to hear the entire tale."
Fenton hesitated, but when he looked up, his elder sister was giving him a stern look, her hands on her hips. "Go on," she said firmly. "I'll take care of the dishes."
Fenton laughed a bit. "Okay," he said, surrendering. "Okay."