"Cut to the chase," growled Fenton. "Where have they taken Joe?"
"We don't know," Gray admitted. "We were lucky this past summer," he continued. "We made a big bust."
"What does that have to do with my son?" Fenton demanded. He had steered clear of all Network cases after the one where Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton, had been killed in a car bombing. A bomb that had been meant for one of his sons as a warning to him.
Gray looked at Fenton, ignoring Frank for fear something might be given away in a silent exchange. "It is possible that one of the captured men may know something."
"Then I want to be there for the questioning," Fenton asserted his brown eyes hard and his face set.
"Me too!" Frank declared.
"No!" Fenton denied, turning on Frank angrily. "You will stay here."
"But.."
"No buts," Fenton interrupted him, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not have you associated with the Network in any way."
"We'll keep an eye on Frank," Collig promised Fenton.
"I am not going into protective custody," Frank snarled knowing that was what Collig had in mind.
"You will remain in Bayport and wait for my return before you do anything?" Fenton demanded of his son.
"Yes," Frank agreed without flinching. He had developed the art of lying without changing expression. It was a skill his brother envied.
"Let's go," Fenton said, leading the way out of the office.
"It was nice seeing you again," Gray said to Frank, holding out his hand.
"You too," Frank replied, shaking his hand and then quickly shoving his hands in his pockets.
Joe was taken to a compartment and locked in a small room. On the bunk were clothing and shoes. Sighing, Joe got out of the wet suit and put on the clothes and sneakers then sat down on the bunk. He heard a loud siren and then he felt like his stomach was falling. We're going down, he thought. Where were they taking him?
It felt like he had been there for hours before the door opened and two men entered. One was armed and the other carried a tray with food and soda. He set the tray down and picked up the wet suit and exited followed by the armed man. The door locked behind them and once again Joe was left alone.
"Wake-up." A voice drifted into Joe's sleep-fogged mind.
Joe's eyes fluttered briefly before opening and focusing on the man standing over him. "It's time," the man said, his tone ominous.
"Time for what?" Joe demanded a bit nervously. He had finally arrived at the conclusion that his abductors were Assassins. There were too many and they were too well organized to be anything else.
"For your questions to be answered," he was informed. Joe stood and preceded the man out of the compartment. "Allow me to enlighten you on the layout of your new home," the man continued, his voice distinguished even though he was unshaven and his black hair a bit unruly.
"The island is only accessible by helicopter or small watercraft. The rocks along all the shore on every side of the island are treacherous," Joe was informed. "A helicopter flies in once weekly with supplies."
"Why are you telling me this?" Joe asked, turning to look him in the eyes.
"I was ordered too," he replied calmly. "The island is small but large enough for you to explore," the man continued. "There is a small lake for you to swim in. However, the sea is ripe with sharks and you would be ill advised to try it," he warned Joe.
"I'm going to get the run of the island?" Joe demanded in disbelief.
"Starting tomorrow," the man acknowledged. "Tonight you are to meet your hostess and be shown to your quarters."
"You're an Assassin, aren't you?" Joe asked, a bit perplexed by his treatment.
"As is everyone on the island," the man acknowledged.
"Then why have you brought me here?" Joe asked curiously. "Why go to all this trouble? You're going to kill me."
"You must ask your hostess these questions," Joe was told. "My associates and I only carry out our orders."
"And what exactly are your orders?" Joe asked.
"To escort you to the house and tell you about your new home," was the reply. The man continued to talk as Joe was led topside and escorted aboard a small boat. Joe could see why a larger boat would not make it to the island. The last five hundred feet had rocks jutting from beneath the waves. Even the small boat he was in had to change directions several times to avoid crashing onto the rocks.
Frank left the station and hurried out to his father's car, grateful his dad had ridden with Gray to the airport. Once in the car, Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out the curled up paper the Gray man had slipped him when they had shaken hands. On the paper was an address.
Buckling his seat belt and putting the car into gear, Frank drove to the home of Biff Hooper. He was ecstatic to find Chet there as well. "Any news on Joe?" Chet asked.
"The Assassins have him," Frank informed them. "The Gray man arrived at the police station and took dad with him to question some of the captives from the camp," he continued. "But he gave me an address to check out. I was hoping you could go with me?" he asked.
"You bet we will," Biff agreed at once. "You think they're still going to take him to the head Assassin?"
"I'm sure of it," Frank answered. "From what Gray told us, it sounds like Joe's abduction was well planned." He told the two boys about where Joe had been taken and subsequently picked up from.
"In the water?" Chet asked, a thoughtful look on his face. "You think maybe they're taking him to an island or something?"
"Why an island?" Biff asked, curious.
Chet shrugged. "Well, Joe and Frank escaped from the fortress," he reasoned. "If he were taken to an island, he would have a harder time getting away."
"Chet, you're brilliant!" Frank congratulated him, pulling out his cell phone.
"Phil, I need a favor," Frank said when Phil picked up.
"Name it," Phil returned.
"I need to know if there are any privately owned islands," Frank said.
"General location?" Phil inquired.
"I have no idea," Frank admitted. "And even an island is a long shot."
"But an island privately owned would mean no unwanted visitors," Phil guessed. "You really think Joe might be on one?"
"We know for sure the Assassins have him," Frank began.
"The Assassins?" Phil gasped.
"Yes," Frank reaffirmed. "And they could afford an entire island."
"I'll get right on it," Phil promised. "I'll call you when I have something," he added before hanging up.
"Let's go," Frank said, looking at his two eager friends.
Joe walked into the mansion with butterflies pelting the walls of his stomach. Why was he here? What did they want with him?
"This way," Joe was directed. Joe followed the man through an archway into a spacious living room where a woman about five feet eight stood nervously twirling a lock of her long blond hair. Her green eyes lit up as Joe stepped forward.
"You may leave," the woman told the men who had escorted Joe from the boat.
Joe turned his head and watched as four men exited with the one who had told Joe about the island. After they had closed the doors behind them, Joe turned back to the woman. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Laurel Hardin," she answered.
"Why did you bring me here?" Joe asked, his voice hard and eyes distrustful.
Laurel picked up a picture and handed it to Joe. Joe looked at the picture of a little boy with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks almost like Frank did when he was younger, Joe thought. Joe looked from the picture back to the woman.
"That was taken nine years ago," Laurel informed him. "Before he got sick."
"Sick?" Joe asked.
"He had leukemia," she told him. "That was when we found out he wasn't our real son."
"What?" Joe asked, confused.
"He needed a kidney," she said. "The hospital ran all kinds of tests on him and us. One of those tests revealed the truth. Our son, Danny Hardin had been switched at birth with the son of the only other woman in the maternity ward: Laura Hardy."
"What does that have to do with my son?" Fenton demanded. He had steered clear of all Network cases after the one where Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton, had been killed in a car bombing. A bomb that had been meant for one of his sons as a warning to him.
Gray looked at Fenton, ignoring Frank for fear something might be given away in a silent exchange. "It is possible that one of the captured men may know something."
"Then I want to be there for the questioning," Fenton asserted his brown eyes hard and his face set.
"Me too!" Frank declared.
"No!" Fenton denied, turning on Frank angrily. "You will stay here."
"But.."
"No buts," Fenton interrupted him, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not have you associated with the Network in any way."
"We'll keep an eye on Frank," Collig promised Fenton.
"I am not going into protective custody," Frank snarled knowing that was what Collig had in mind.
"You will remain in Bayport and wait for my return before you do anything?" Fenton demanded of his son.
"Yes," Frank agreed without flinching. He had developed the art of lying without changing expression. It was a skill his brother envied.
"Let's go," Fenton said, leading the way out of the office.
"It was nice seeing you again," Gray said to Frank, holding out his hand.
"You too," Frank replied, shaking his hand and then quickly shoving his hands in his pockets.
Joe was taken to a compartment and locked in a small room. On the bunk were clothing and shoes. Sighing, Joe got out of the wet suit and put on the clothes and sneakers then sat down on the bunk. He heard a loud siren and then he felt like his stomach was falling. We're going down, he thought. Where were they taking him?
It felt like he had been there for hours before the door opened and two men entered. One was armed and the other carried a tray with food and soda. He set the tray down and picked up the wet suit and exited followed by the armed man. The door locked behind them and once again Joe was left alone.
"Wake-up." A voice drifted into Joe's sleep-fogged mind.
Joe's eyes fluttered briefly before opening and focusing on the man standing over him. "It's time," the man said, his tone ominous.
"Time for what?" Joe demanded a bit nervously. He had finally arrived at the conclusion that his abductors were Assassins. There were too many and they were too well organized to be anything else.
"For your questions to be answered," he was informed. Joe stood and preceded the man out of the compartment. "Allow me to enlighten you on the layout of your new home," the man continued, his voice distinguished even though he was unshaven and his black hair a bit unruly.
"The island is only accessible by helicopter or small watercraft. The rocks along all the shore on every side of the island are treacherous," Joe was informed. "A helicopter flies in once weekly with supplies."
"Why are you telling me this?" Joe asked, turning to look him in the eyes.
"I was ordered too," he replied calmly. "The island is small but large enough for you to explore," the man continued. "There is a small lake for you to swim in. However, the sea is ripe with sharks and you would be ill advised to try it," he warned Joe.
"I'm going to get the run of the island?" Joe demanded in disbelief.
"Starting tomorrow," the man acknowledged. "Tonight you are to meet your hostess and be shown to your quarters."
"You're an Assassin, aren't you?" Joe asked, a bit perplexed by his treatment.
"As is everyone on the island," the man acknowledged.
"Then why have you brought me here?" Joe asked curiously. "Why go to all this trouble? You're going to kill me."
"You must ask your hostess these questions," Joe was told. "My associates and I only carry out our orders."
"And what exactly are your orders?" Joe asked.
"To escort you to the house and tell you about your new home," was the reply. The man continued to talk as Joe was led topside and escorted aboard a small boat. Joe could see why a larger boat would not make it to the island. The last five hundred feet had rocks jutting from beneath the waves. Even the small boat he was in had to change directions several times to avoid crashing onto the rocks.
Frank left the station and hurried out to his father's car, grateful his dad had ridden with Gray to the airport. Once in the car, Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out the curled up paper the Gray man had slipped him when they had shaken hands. On the paper was an address.
Buckling his seat belt and putting the car into gear, Frank drove to the home of Biff Hooper. He was ecstatic to find Chet there as well. "Any news on Joe?" Chet asked.
"The Assassins have him," Frank informed them. "The Gray man arrived at the police station and took dad with him to question some of the captives from the camp," he continued. "But he gave me an address to check out. I was hoping you could go with me?" he asked.
"You bet we will," Biff agreed at once. "You think they're still going to take him to the head Assassin?"
"I'm sure of it," Frank answered. "From what Gray told us, it sounds like Joe's abduction was well planned." He told the two boys about where Joe had been taken and subsequently picked up from.
"In the water?" Chet asked, a thoughtful look on his face. "You think maybe they're taking him to an island or something?"
"Why an island?" Biff asked, curious.
Chet shrugged. "Well, Joe and Frank escaped from the fortress," he reasoned. "If he were taken to an island, he would have a harder time getting away."
"Chet, you're brilliant!" Frank congratulated him, pulling out his cell phone.
"Phil, I need a favor," Frank said when Phil picked up.
"Name it," Phil returned.
"I need to know if there are any privately owned islands," Frank said.
"General location?" Phil inquired.
"I have no idea," Frank admitted. "And even an island is a long shot."
"But an island privately owned would mean no unwanted visitors," Phil guessed. "You really think Joe might be on one?"
"We know for sure the Assassins have him," Frank began.
"The Assassins?" Phil gasped.
"Yes," Frank reaffirmed. "And they could afford an entire island."
"I'll get right on it," Phil promised. "I'll call you when I have something," he added before hanging up.
"Let's go," Frank said, looking at his two eager friends.
Joe walked into the mansion with butterflies pelting the walls of his stomach. Why was he here? What did they want with him?
"This way," Joe was directed. Joe followed the man through an archway into a spacious living room where a woman about five feet eight stood nervously twirling a lock of her long blond hair. Her green eyes lit up as Joe stepped forward.
"You may leave," the woman told the men who had escorted Joe from the boat.
Joe turned his head and watched as four men exited with the one who had told Joe about the island. After they had closed the doors behind them, Joe turned back to the woman. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Laurel Hardin," she answered.
"Why did you bring me here?" Joe asked, his voice hard and eyes distrustful.
Laurel picked up a picture and handed it to Joe. Joe looked at the picture of a little boy with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks almost like Frank did when he was younger, Joe thought. Joe looked from the picture back to the woman.
"That was taken nine years ago," Laurel informed him. "Before he got sick."
"Sick?" Joe asked.
"He had leukemia," she told him. "That was when we found out he wasn't our real son."
"What?" Joe asked, confused.
"He needed a kidney," she said. "The hospital ran all kinds of tests on him and us. One of those tests revealed the truth. Our son, Danny Hardin had been switched at birth with the son of the only other woman in the maternity ward: Laura Hardy."