"Boys, prepare the shelter," Laurel ordered. "Lance, have Craig, Steve, Ralph and John help you board up the house. Joe, why don't you run upstairs and get your CD player and some books? We may be in the shelter a little while."
Joe left the kitchen and headed back upstairs. In his room, he looked out of the balcony doors at the sea below. The waves swelled as they neared then broke violently against the rocks. No, a boat could never have reached the island in weather like this. Joe shrugged and turned away. Probably the boat had been adrift with no one on...Bodies! Lance had said 'their bodies.' There had been someone on board and they knew whom! Could it have been Dad and Frank?
His mind made up, Joe left his bedroom and headed to the basement. He had looked all over the house last night and would have had free run of the island today had not the storm arrived. If they had captured someone the basement would be the most logical place to keep them. He stopped at the basement door and reached for the handle.
"Can I help you with something?" asked a deep baritone from behind him. John Wesley had seen Joe head toward the basement and followed him.
"I want to see the basement," Joe declared, his voice and demeanor braver than he felt.
"I thought you were given a tour last night," John said. "It hasn't changed any."
"I want to see it again," Joe insisted, his spirits picking up. It was obvious to him that the man was trying to talk Joe out of viewing the basement which could only mean one thing: there were prisoners and they were being held in the basement!
Sighing, John waved a hand letting Joe know he should precede him through the door and down the steps. Joe pulled the deadbolt back and opened the door. He turned on the light and hurried down the stairs. Joe came to a stop on the bottom step. The basement did indeed hold something it hadn't the previous evening but it wasn't a living being. The place was loaded with crates; some of which had been opened and their contents lay glistening even in the dim basement light.
"When did these weapons arrive?" Joe asked, taking in the mini arsenal.
"Early this morning," John answered. "Just before sun-up."
"The boat that was reported?" Joe inquired with the lift of a brow.
"Was spotted as the weapons were brought to shore. It was belly up and floating until..."
"Until it hit the rocks," Joe finished in a monotone. "You had better get back to work," he added then left the basement and went back to his room. He took a couple of books from the shelf then returned downstairs.
"Have a seat in the dining room," Laurel instructed Joe. "We're going to eat before we head to the shelter."
"Where is the shelter?" Joe asked as he followed her into the dining room and took a seat.
"About a quarter of a mile from here," she informed him. "There is a tunnel that leads to the shelter that is accessible through a trap door in the kitchen."
"Anyone joining us?" Joe asked as two plates were brought in by one of the men.
"The men are busy preparing for the storm," Laurel told him. "Kevin, here, is our resident cook and his help is not required to help batten down the hatches."
"Shouldn't I be helping?" Joe asked as a glass of milk was set beside his plate.
"I just found you," Laurel replied softly. "I am not about to lose you. Don't worry," she continued. "There will be plenty of time after the storm for you to get used to your new home and take part in things."
Joe frowned but picked up his fork and dug in. He was hungry and the shelter might not prove compatible to anything more substantial than canned beans and beef jerky.
"It's no use," Fenton said as the oar was ripped from his hands. "We're going to have to swim for it."
"I'm ready," Frank agreed. He pulled his shoes off and tied one lace to a loop on his pants. He started with the second shoe but a wave crashed against the boat and toppled it over. The shoe slipped from Frank's hands and disappeared from sight.
"You okay?" Fenton asked as he floated to the surface.
"Yes," acknowledged Frank, loosening his life jacket. The jackets had been for safety in case they had capsized. Now that they were ready to begin their swim, the jackets would be a nuisance.
Fenton removed his jacket as well and the two Hardys kept silent as they concentrated on making shore. It didn't take them long to realize that every few minutes they could relax as a wave would lift them and carry them several yards closer to their goal.
As they neared the island, they fought the oncoming waves, aware that they could be tossed against the rocks like lifeless dolls. By the time they did reach the deserted beach, they fell to the sand gasping for breath. All too soon, Frank got to his feet and gave his father a hand up. It wouldn't do to stay in the open too long.
"The Network isn't going to be able to make it today, are they?" Frank asked once the two had found temporary shelter.
"I doubt it," Fenton answered, his face marred by a dark scowl. "We need to find a better place to hole up for the duration of this storm," he continued.
"You do that while I check the layout," Frank suggested. "We can meet..." he broke off as his father shook his head.
"No. Joe's safe for now," Fenton interrupted him. "We need to..."
"How can you say that?" snapped Frank, his brown eyes smoldering. "You have no idea what they could be doing to him. They've probably been torturing him since they got their hooks on him."
"Calm down," Fenton ordered. "We can't help Joe if we get captured. And we can't rescue him until the Network arrives because there won't be a place on this island they wouldn't look for him."
"What if they kill him before then?" Frank demanded. "We can't just leave him!"
"They won't kill him," Fenton assured Frank.
"Why are you so sure?" demanded Frank glaring at his father suspiciously.
"Just trust me," Fenton begged. He knew now was not the time to discuss the matter. They needed a more permanent shelter and having a showdown, for Fenton knew Frank would initiate one, in the pouring rain and rapidly increasing wind would benefit none of them.
Frank bit his bottom lip the way he always did when he was frustrated. He did trust his father but he hated being kept in the dark especially when the welfare of his brother was at stake.
"Fine," Frank finally agreed in a tone that let his father know it was far form it. "Let's..."
"Shh!" hissed Fenton as several men came into view. He grabbed Frank's arm and pointed to the shore where a small boat, slightly larger and better built than the one they had been on, was making its way to shore.
They watched as the boat touched shore and its cargo was unloaded. Several minutes later, the boat left and the men carried the crates up the beach and into the brush. Once the men hit the brush, Fenton and Frank followed. Keeping close to the lush undergrowth, they kept the men in sight as they made their way to a large house.
Thunder cracked and a tree near Frank was hit by lightening. Unintentionally, he jumped and emitted a shout. He caught his breath and stood still as he waited for the men to stop and look his way but the wind was howling much too loudly for him to have been heard. The men continued on undisturbed.
Once the men entered the house, Fenton and Frank made their way to the door and peered inside. Seeing no one, Frank reached for the handle but was halted by his father who grabbed his wrist. Shaking his hand, Fenton pulled Frank away from the house.
"Dad," Frank said, shaking his sleeping father's shoulder almost three hours later.
The two had found shelter in a small cave less than a hundred yards from the house. Fenton, having had only a couple of hours of sleep on the flight home from DC had fallen asleep soon after they settled in. Frank remained awake, worry about his younger brother depriving him of any attempt to rest his weary body.
"Wh..what is it?" Fenton asked, slowly awakening.
"Something's going on," Frank informed his father. Fenton went to the edge of the cave and peered through the rain at the house. Several men were outside the house putting boards over the windows.
"Blast it!" cursed Fenton. "We must be in for a hurricane," he said, his gaze flickering to the tall trees whose thick branches were moving in the wind. "We're going to have to get inside," he added. "We'll never survive out here."
His mind made up, Joe left his bedroom and headed to the basement. He had looked all over the house last night and would have had free run of the island today had not the storm arrived. If they had captured someone the basement would be the most logical place to keep them. He stopped at the basement door and reached for the handle.
"Can I help you with something?" asked a deep baritone from behind him. John Wesley had seen Joe head toward the basement and followed him.
"I want to see the basement," Joe declared, his voice and demeanor braver than he felt.
"I thought you were given a tour last night," John said. "It hasn't changed any."
"I want to see it again," Joe insisted, his spirits picking up. It was obvious to him that the man was trying to talk Joe out of viewing the basement which could only mean one thing: there were prisoners and they were being held in the basement!
Sighing, John waved a hand letting Joe know he should precede him through the door and down the steps. Joe pulled the deadbolt back and opened the door. He turned on the light and hurried down the stairs. Joe came to a stop on the bottom step. The basement did indeed hold something it hadn't the previous evening but it wasn't a living being. The place was loaded with crates; some of which had been opened and their contents lay glistening even in the dim basement light.
"When did these weapons arrive?" Joe asked, taking in the mini arsenal.
"Early this morning," John answered. "Just before sun-up."
"The boat that was reported?" Joe inquired with the lift of a brow.
"Was spotted as the weapons were brought to shore. It was belly up and floating until..."
"Until it hit the rocks," Joe finished in a monotone. "You had better get back to work," he added then left the basement and went back to his room. He took a couple of books from the shelf then returned downstairs.
"Have a seat in the dining room," Laurel instructed Joe. "We're going to eat before we head to the shelter."
"Where is the shelter?" Joe asked as he followed her into the dining room and took a seat.
"About a quarter of a mile from here," she informed him. "There is a tunnel that leads to the shelter that is accessible through a trap door in the kitchen."
"Anyone joining us?" Joe asked as two plates were brought in by one of the men.
"The men are busy preparing for the storm," Laurel told him. "Kevin, here, is our resident cook and his help is not required to help batten down the hatches."
"Shouldn't I be helping?" Joe asked as a glass of milk was set beside his plate.
"I just found you," Laurel replied softly. "I am not about to lose you. Don't worry," she continued. "There will be plenty of time after the storm for you to get used to your new home and take part in things."
Joe frowned but picked up his fork and dug in. He was hungry and the shelter might not prove compatible to anything more substantial than canned beans and beef jerky.
"It's no use," Fenton said as the oar was ripped from his hands. "We're going to have to swim for it."
"I'm ready," Frank agreed. He pulled his shoes off and tied one lace to a loop on his pants. He started with the second shoe but a wave crashed against the boat and toppled it over. The shoe slipped from Frank's hands and disappeared from sight.
"You okay?" Fenton asked as he floated to the surface.
"Yes," acknowledged Frank, loosening his life jacket. The jackets had been for safety in case they had capsized. Now that they were ready to begin their swim, the jackets would be a nuisance.
Fenton removed his jacket as well and the two Hardys kept silent as they concentrated on making shore. It didn't take them long to realize that every few minutes they could relax as a wave would lift them and carry them several yards closer to their goal.
As they neared the island, they fought the oncoming waves, aware that they could be tossed against the rocks like lifeless dolls. By the time they did reach the deserted beach, they fell to the sand gasping for breath. All too soon, Frank got to his feet and gave his father a hand up. It wouldn't do to stay in the open too long.
"The Network isn't going to be able to make it today, are they?" Frank asked once the two had found temporary shelter.
"I doubt it," Fenton answered, his face marred by a dark scowl. "We need to find a better place to hole up for the duration of this storm," he continued.
"You do that while I check the layout," Frank suggested. "We can meet..." he broke off as his father shook his head.
"No. Joe's safe for now," Fenton interrupted him. "We need to..."
"How can you say that?" snapped Frank, his brown eyes smoldering. "You have no idea what they could be doing to him. They've probably been torturing him since they got their hooks on him."
"Calm down," Fenton ordered. "We can't help Joe if we get captured. And we can't rescue him until the Network arrives because there won't be a place on this island they wouldn't look for him."
"What if they kill him before then?" Frank demanded. "We can't just leave him!"
"They won't kill him," Fenton assured Frank.
"Why are you so sure?" demanded Frank glaring at his father suspiciously.
"Just trust me," Fenton begged. He knew now was not the time to discuss the matter. They needed a more permanent shelter and having a showdown, for Fenton knew Frank would initiate one, in the pouring rain and rapidly increasing wind would benefit none of them.
Frank bit his bottom lip the way he always did when he was frustrated. He did trust his father but he hated being kept in the dark especially when the welfare of his brother was at stake.
"Fine," Frank finally agreed in a tone that let his father know it was far form it. "Let's..."
"Shh!" hissed Fenton as several men came into view. He grabbed Frank's arm and pointed to the shore where a small boat, slightly larger and better built than the one they had been on, was making its way to shore.
They watched as the boat touched shore and its cargo was unloaded. Several minutes later, the boat left and the men carried the crates up the beach and into the brush. Once the men hit the brush, Fenton and Frank followed. Keeping close to the lush undergrowth, they kept the men in sight as they made their way to a large house.
Thunder cracked and a tree near Frank was hit by lightening. Unintentionally, he jumped and emitted a shout. He caught his breath and stood still as he waited for the men to stop and look his way but the wind was howling much too loudly for him to have been heard. The men continued on undisturbed.
Once the men entered the house, Fenton and Frank made their way to the door and peered inside. Seeing no one, Frank reached for the handle but was halted by his father who grabbed his wrist. Shaking his hand, Fenton pulled Frank away from the house.
"Dad," Frank said, shaking his sleeping father's shoulder almost three hours later.
The two had found shelter in a small cave less than a hundred yards from the house. Fenton, having had only a couple of hours of sleep on the flight home from DC had fallen asleep soon after they settled in. Frank remained awake, worry about his younger brother depriving him of any attempt to rest his weary body.
"Wh..what is it?" Fenton asked, slowly awakening.
"Something's going on," Frank informed his father. Fenton went to the edge of the cave and peered through the rain at the house. Several men were outside the house putting boards over the windows.
"Blast it!" cursed Fenton. "We must be in for a hurricane," he said, his gaze flickering to the tall trees whose thick branches were moving in the wind. "We're going to have to get inside," he added. "We'll never survive out here."