Chapter 18.

Cathy Brunelle, known to one and all at the 19th District as Sergeant Mahoney's assistant, was smiling.

"Mr. Marouelli," she said, "I think you're going to like what's on this tape."

"I trust tonight was a smashing success, Detective Brunelle?" the crime boss asked from his perch on his imported leather armchair. He was a middle-aged man with a deceptively endearing smile, and eyes that could instil trust or fear in a person, depending on his intent. Gathered in his palatial home were five other individuals, consisting of certain members of his organization. They were all awaiting the revealing of the contents of the tape Brunelle had recorded earlier that night.

Nodding in response to Marouelli's question, Brunelle produced the videocassette, and handed it to one of Marouelli's lackeys. He, in turn, inserted the tape into a waiting combination TV/VCR, kept in a pricey mahogany cabinet. Remote in hand, Brunelle hit the 'Power' button, bringing the unit to life.

"The lighting wasn't that great, so I'm afraid the picture quality won't be all that wonderful," Cathy stated apologetically. "However; I did get everything you'll ever want to see."

A grainy image of a suburban neighbourhood street slowly materialized on the large television screen. The view was from an upper room obliquely opposite the Morrison residence, and the camera lens zoomed in to focus on some activity at the front door. Thomas Morrison, handcuffed and struggling, was being led out of the house. Officers around him were jeering at him, their dislike plainly obvious.

"Let me skip ahead to the best part," Brunelle said, noticing that Marouelli had shifted in his seat, indicating he was already growing impatient. She pressed the 'fast-forward' button, and the picture on the screen blurred and fragmented as the tape sped ahead.

"About…here…" Brunelle pressed the 'Play' button again, and the picture snapped back, showing that the camera was now panning to the left, locked on the figure of a young woman who was quickly making her way to an armoured police van.

"I know it's a little hard to see since it's parked on that dark side street," Brunelle said ruefully, but I promise things will be lit up brighter than a Christmas tree in just a couple seconds, right when I threw the switch."

All eyes in the room were riveted to the television. The armoured van's engine roared to life, and its wheels slowly began to turn, advancing it a few feet. Then in a blinding flash, it was obliterated. Bright flames were shooting from the wreckage, and law enforcement agents were dashing about in a state of panic and confusion.

"Bravo!" Marouelli clapped twice in delight. "Well done, my dear; with just the kind of efficiency I love. We've managed to kill two birds with one stone. There is no doubt in my mind that Tom Morrison would have turned on us, thereby destroying all our hard work…"

The others in the room nodded in agreement.

"And that Nancy Drew," Marouelli's voice was scornful, "that one has been a thorn in our collective side for far too long. I think we can all breathe easier tonight, my friends: the double-threat of Tom Morrison and his nosy partner is over."

Augustus Marouelli turned to look at one of the individuals in the room. "Sergeant MacMillan, you've proven yourself beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are worthy of this organization. Thanks to your timely tip about the return of Detective Drew, and what would surely have been Tom Morrison squealing a confession before the night was through, we were able to ensure our enemies didn't gain the upper hand. Welcome to the fold! As we say in Italian, my house is your house."

Joseph MacMillan looked a little embarrassed by the crime boss' praise. "Uh, thank you, sir," he stammered. "I look forward to an enduring partnership with this organization."

"And you, my dear," Marouelli said, turning to Cathy Brunelle, "it was on your word alone that I was supposed to trust our newest member here. Your instincts were true. Thank you for a successful recruitment."

Brunelle bowed her head slightly. "It was my pleasure, sir," she replied. "Now what would you have me do with this tape? Perhaps you want it as a souvenir?"

"Oh, heavens no!" Marouelli replied with a grimace, waving his hand. "Destroy it. Get rid of it. That's the only way to stay in business in this world. Never leave any evidence. Never leave a trail that can lead to you. That's how you remain untouchable."

"Of course, sir," Brunelle said, ejecting the tape from the VCR. "I'll see to it that it's trashed." She returned it to its case and put it into her shoulder bag.

"I trust that those two private investigators from New York will be dealt with as well? Now that Tom Morrison is out of the picture, we don't have anyone else keeping an eye on them at present. I was most unimpressed that they managed to survive their little car accident."

"I think we can cover them," MacMillan piped up.

"Good, good. That's what I want to hear. You've got a pretty good rapport with them already, haven't you?" Marouelli asked.

"Yes, sir, I do," Sergeant MacMillan answered. "But I think now that Detective Drew, Tom Morrison and Sergeant Mahoney are out of the way, the Hardys have nothing at all to go on anymore. There's no one left to help them. My guess is they'll return home very soon."

The crime boss looked skeptical. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt on that one, Sergeant. But if it becomes necessary to eliminate them, I trust you'll do it in a timely manner."

"Of course, sir."

"Excellent! That's the kind of initiative I like to hear from my eager new recruits! Now, I want for you two to return to your comrades in the Department," Marouelli commanded. "Be with them in their time of need. Go grieve with them. It will look suspicious if you're not there in the aftermath of this 'tragedy'. And remember: arouse no suspicion. Give them no reason to look your way. I don't want you two to ever discuss 'business' while at the station. It's your trustworthy characters that make the both of you so perfect for the needs of this organization. Capische?"

"Yes, sir," MacMillan and Brunelle answered in unison.

"Good. Be on your way." He waved them off, and the pair retreated to the door exiting the room.

The remaining four individuals from the organization stayed put, standing at strategically placed points in the room, arms at their sides in an attitude of attention. Augustus Marouelli reached over for a crystal tumbler of brandy on the table by the side of his armchair. He poured a liberal amount into a glass and was about to take a sip when he heard a loud voice command him to put it down, remain where he was, and raise his arms in the air.

Weapons trained on the still seated and momentarily stunned crime boss, Cathy Brunelle, Joseph MacMillan and eight Federal agents charged swiftly into the room. The four members of Marouelli's organization quickly drew their own weapons even though they knew they were outnumbered.

"Catherine; Joseph," Marouelli addressed the pair in plaintive tones, "would you mind explaining this sudden betrayal? Who are these men?"

"Shut up," Brunelle said tersely, keeping a wary eye on the four enemy weapons.

"Stand down," MacMillan ordered Marouelli's underlings. "We don't need this to get ugly. Drop your weapons and face the wall. No one needs to get hurt tonight."

The four men looked to their boss for instruction, but he remained silent. With a sudden motion, he jerked his elbow and connected with the crystal brandy decanter. It tumbled to the polished oak floor and shattered.

The abrupt noise was all the distraction that was needed.

The subsequent firefight was over in less than a minute.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" MacMillan's voice rose above the commotion when he saw all four lackeys were down, and that Gus Marouelli was huddling on the floor next to his armchair.

Walls and furniture were peppered with bullet-holes, and the hot smell of gunpowder clung to the air.

MacMillan strode towards the cowering man and ordered him to stand up. "Augustus Marouelli, you are under arrest for conspiracy to murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

"We have some agents down," a low voice spoke in the ensuing silence. MacMillan looked up from handcuffing Marouelli. To his dismay, he saw that the uninjured agents were attending three injured ones. He felt a stab of panic when he realised Cathy Brunelle was one of the three requiring aid.

Backup agents were on the scene now to assist, and MacMillan palmed the crime boss off to the nearest one. "Get him out of my sight," he said with disgust, and then rushed over to his ally.

"How are you doing, agent?" MacMillan asked guardedly as he knelt by Brunelle's side.

Still prone and unmoving, the woman's pained expression nevertheless revealed that she was very much alive.

"Um…Feel like I've been kicked by a horse," she whispered feebly.

"Looks like the Kevlar vest stopped the bullet, Brunelle," the agent checking her out commented with relief. "It's gonna leave one helluva nasty bruise to be sure. You're gonna be fine, but we'll let the paramedics check you out, okay?"

Brunelle nodded weakly.

"And so ends a two-year, deep undercover assignment, huh?" MacMillan remarked with a small shake of his head. "Be proud of yourself, agent. Mission accomplished."

Brunelle managed a slight grin. "Thanks, Sarge. But it's we who should be thanking you. If you and Sergeant Mahoney hadn't come to us back when you did with your suspicions, we might have never been able to infiltrate Marouelli's gang when we did. Don't forget we wanted to get him, too."

"I think Mahoney's going to miss you as his assistant. Any chance we can convince you to stay on in Chicago? They've got enough agents in D.C.," MacMillan said warmly.

"I've got a life waiting for me back in Washington, Sarge, but if I'm ever back here, I'll be sure to drop by the 19th."

"We'll hold you to that, agent," MacMillan replied, "and thank you for everything. The risks you've taken over the past couple years have most certainly not been in vain."

The capture of the notorious leader of one of the most powerful gangs in Chicago came too late to make the next morning's editions of the city's major newspapers. But the headlines screamed his arrest in later editions, and it was all over radio and television news spots.

The Chief of Police was quoted as saying that the arrest of Gus Marouelli and the toppling of his organization was a fine example of how well the FBI and the Chicago Police Department could cooperate, sharing information and resources to obtain a common goal.

"I think too often the impression is that the two law enforcement agencies compete against each other. Not so in this case," came the Chief's sound bite. "I want to express my gratitude to all the officers and agents who put their lives on the line so that we could make our great city that much safer."

At the 19th district station, there were mixed feelings of shock, sadness, and triumph.

Frank and Joe Hardy were on hand to witness all the reactions of the officers.

Triumph, of course, over the fact that Gus Marouelli was at last in custody. It was only a matter of time before people like Tom Morrison would finger those under him. They, in turn, would be pressured by prosecutors to turn state's witnesses. Now that Marouelli was out of commission, the threat that he posed in the past was greatly diminished.

Many felt sadness, due mostly in part to the knowledge that Detective Thomas Morrison was one of the dirty cops. His traitorous position as well as the revelation that he had murdered Dr. Debra Gray left many of the officers upset and shaken.

At last, there was surprised, joyful shock that Detective Nancy Drew, believed to be dead, was actually alive and back in Chicago.

With the news reports on television broadcasting the footage of the exploding van, courtesy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Chicago Police Department, many were clamouring for an explanation as to how Sergeant Mahoney, Detective Drew and Detective Morrison survived.

"You'd think Sergeant MacMillan would have let us in on the whole thing," Frank said, not unkindly, as they stood chatting with some detectives they'd gotten to know that had been on the serial killer task force.

"They wanted all the reactions to be genuine for the benefit of Agent Cathy Brunelle's little home movie," Joe piped up.

"How'd Gus Marouelli know that they were moving in on Tom Morrison in the first place?" Lieutenant Vic Matheson asked.

"Simple," Frank answered. "Sergeant MacMillan told him. He was the liaison between the FBI and the Department, and it was the perfect opportunity for a sting operation."

"See, Cathy Brunelle's been working as a double-agent for the past two years," Joe explained. "The FBI sent her out here to see if she could find the moles in this district after Sergeants MacMillan and Mahoney went to them with their suspicions someone here was working for Marouelli. Pretty soon, Tom Morrison recruited her."

"She got very good at getting Marouelli to trust her," Frank added. "He's always very paranoid about being caught; about evidence being traced to him. He apparently checks anyone who enters his home thoroughly for electronic bugs and wires. But quite recently, he stopped checking Brunelle quite as thoroughly. It looks like he may have been developing something of a crush on her.

Early yesterday afternoon, MacMillan got a call from an Agent Phillips – the agent who was handling Detective Drew's witness protection arrangements. Evidently Nancy had given him an ultimatum: she was coming back here to confront Tom, with or without Bureau assistance."

Lieutenant Matheson whistled. "That is one gutsy young lady."

"Anyway," Frank said in continuation, "MacMillan informed Brunelle of Nancy's plan. She realised they'd have one shot and one shot only - if they were going to make everything work. By following along with Nancy's plan to arrest Tom, they could also use that to snare Marouelli. Brunelle knew if she could get him to order the killing of both Tom and Nancy, and hopefully get it on wire, they'd have enough evidence to arrest him. They could worry about other charges later."

"So, the whole exploding van number, that was all for the benefit of showing Marouelli that his orders had been successfully carried out?" Detective Eric Singh asked.

"Right," Joe answered, "as well as one last opportunity for Marouelli to incriminate himself by confirming he wanted Tom and Nancy dead. They also hoped to get him for his recruiting of Chicago Police Department officers."

"But, just how did they get out of that van?" Lieutenant Matheson asked.

"It's easy to escape from an exploding vehicle when you know it's going to explode," Frank said. "They parked that van right next to a manhole cover. It was parked in such a way that the camera would see them getting in, but not out. Even from our vantage point, we didn't see them slipping down into the sewers."

The officers listening to the story shook their heads.

"Sleight-of-hand at its very finest," one of them commented. "We're going to have to start to call Drew 'Houdini' from now on!"

"Where is she now?" Detective Singh asked.

"Some big de-briefing," Frank said with a sigh. "We're waiting to see her ourselves, but it is getting late…"

"It is," Joe said in agreement. He knew Frank was impatiently waiting for a chance to see Nancy, but they themselves had some loose ends to tie up. "We really should get going, Frank. We need to make that meeting with the car rental insurance person."

"Right," Frank said with distaste. "That won't be pleasant. I wonder if they'll buy 'attempted murder' as the reason the car's got brake lines that are shot, not to mention the fact it's a total write-off?"

"Don't let us keep you, then," Lieutenant Matheson said. "You guys take care, though I'm sure this isn't the last we'll be seeing of you."

The brothers were about to turn to leave when they saw the tall figure of Sergeant Joseph MacMillan exit one of the meeting rooms.

"Sergeant MacMillan," Joe called out.

"Hey, it's the Hardy boys!" he said with a grin, greeting them both with firm handshakes.

"Are they finished with Nan – er, Detective Drew, yet?" Frank asked, a little more eagerly than he desired.

"Almost," MacMillan answered. "Mahoney has some things he'd like to go over with her before she's done. It's been a very long 24 hours for her; for all of us, really. I was just about to head home myself and crash."

"We can't thank you enough for everything you did for us, Sarge," Frank said, "and for Nancy."

"You're welcome," he replied graciously. "Though I think we also owe you thanks for coming up with that information about Dr. Vasek. It was the one piece to the puzzle we were missing, and it will certainly help to cement the case against Gus Marouelli and all the corruption in the Department."

"I had one question, Sarge," Joe said, "that place you took us to after our car accident…it wasn't your son Barry's apartment, was it?"

"Of course not," MacMillan said with a small laugh. "It was a 'safe' house. I don't even have a son named 'Barry'. I'm not even married."

"I knew it! When we first met, I remember thinking your hands were a great size for a basketball player. Then when you said it was your son's place, the mental image of your hands came back, and there wasn't a wedding ring in that picture… Not that you can't have a son without being married first," Joe said sheepishly, "but you just strike me as the kind of guy who would do things in the proper order…"

MacMillan raised a bemused eyebrow. "Thanks, Joe. I'll take that as a compliment."

"Joe was just suspicious at the time, that's all," Frank said with a smile, trying to salvage the conversation. "He noticed that the apartment was quite bare: not at all the kind of decor one would expect from a collegian."

MacMillan nodded in understanding. "You guys really are excellent investigators. I'm just grateful you were on our side for this one! If you ever want to join the force, the CPD would love to have you. And on that note, I'm off."

""Bye, Sarge," the brothers said, and watched him depart.

"We should go, too," Joe said, looking pointedly at his watch. Frank looked back down the hall longingly, hoping to see that Nancy was perhaps finished with her series of meetings.

"We'll see her soon enough, you know," Joe said. "Bess is already arranging a big 'welcome back, Nancy' celebration. And we're going to be late for our appointment if we don't shove off now."

"I know," Frank replied. "I just…never mind. Let's go."

You just wish you could see her sooner than later, Joe mentally finished his brother's unspoken thought. For your sake, Frank, I hope that reunion is everything you want it to be.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Nancy said, upon entering Sergeant Mahoney's office. She had just finished the last of the meetings with the teams assigned to prosecute Thomas Morrison and Augustus Marouelli, and her evidence against both was taken down for the record.

"Yes, have a seat, Detective Drew. This isn't anything official, so be at ease."

"Thank you," she replied, sitting down opposite her commanding officer.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: It's damned good to have you back with us!"

"It's good to be back, Sergeant."

Sergeant Mahoney leaned back in his chair and was silent for a few moments, causing Nancy to fret that he was about to give her some bad news. Finally, he spoke:

"I know you're probably exhausted from everything that's happened, Nancy…far be it from me to bring something up that would be unpleasant and cause you undue distress," Mahoney started, his voice carrying an edge of unease, "but there's something I think you need to see."

"What would that be?" Nancy said carefully, trying not to sound too worried.

Sergeant Mahoney pulled out a manila envelope. "I know how much you've punished yourself for what happened to your friends the night of the drive-by, especially Miss Fayne being paralysed."

Nancy involuntarily stiffened. George, paralysed…and it's my fault!

"Open it," Mahoney instructed, shoving the envelope towards Nancy. "I think after you see what's inside, perhaps you'll be able to let go of a lot of guilt, if not find a little peace."

Sliding her fingers under the flap, Nancy opened the envelope, and reached inside for its contents. Her hands closed around a stack of photographs, which she pulled out and placed on the desk. Looking at the one on the top, a familiar dark-haired woman appeared.

"They're…these are all pictures of George, before she was…" Nancy said in confusion, as she flipped through them. Her alarm began growing as in each shot George seemed totally oblivious to the fact that her picture was being taken. In fact, Nancy was quite sure all the images were obtained in a clandestine manner during various times George was out jogging or running.

"I don't understand," Nancy said apprehensively. "Who took these?"

"The man you swore you'd get for the serial murders," Mahoney answered quietly, "Alec Fontaine."

Nancy could not stop the gasp from escaping her throat.

"Flip a couple of them over," Mahoney said. "Fontaine made notes to himself about all the women he was photographing and stalking. It looks like he was quite fixated on your friend."

Hands shaking, Nancy peered at the tiny, finely written cursive handwriting belonging to the sociopath.

"You're next." The first note ominously read on the earliest image.

All carefully dated, each message Alec Fontaine wrote to himself about George Fayne became increasingly distressing and horrifying as time progressed. On the most recent photo, dated October 6th of the previous year, Fontaine had started to detail his plans tosubdue and kill the object of his latest obsession.

"Oh Lord," Nancy whispered in disbelief. Then she read the addendum to the note detailing the murder plot, written eight days later on the 14th of October:

"Where have you gone?" it read.

"We found this among his various scrapbooks that he kept of his, uh, exploits," Mahoney said, passing Nancy an article Fontaine had snipped from the Chicago Sun-Times. It was the article that reported the drive-by shooting, and full-colour reproductions of herself, Bess and George accompanied the by-line. With bold red marker, Fontaine had circled George's picture.

"Too bad," Fontaine had written in the margins, "we could have had a lovely time together."

Nancy shuddered, placed the piece of newsprint softly on the desk, and brought her hands to her face. All at once, she felt like weeping and laughing.

"You have to ask yourself now, Nancy," Mahoney said gently, "which fate is worse? I think I know which one Miss Fayne's family would say. As her close friend, I think you'd agree that losing a fully mobile George Fayne is infinitely better than losing her to a madman like Alec Fontaine."

Wiping away a tear that had escaped, Nancy nodded. "Yes," she said, "it is. Thank you, Sergeant."

"Hey, Drew!" called Lieutenant Matheson. "You just missed your friends."

Nancy had just left Sergeant Mahoney's office, feeling bone-tired and more physically, emotionally and spiritually spent than she had ever felt in her entire life.

"Which friends?" she found the strength to ask.

"Frank and Joe Hardy," Matheson said.

"They were here?" Nancy asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Sorry you missed them."

"I'm sorry I missed them, too," Nancy said, more to herself than to Matheson. So, Frank and Joe had been here, waiting for her. She hoped that they had forgiven her for her deception back in New York. Knowing that their lives had been placed in jeopardy due to her situation was still upsetting to her, even though they were all okay. Fighting back the keen disappointment she was experiencing at not being able to see Frank and Joe, Nancy stepped out of the station house, the feeling of freedom to walk outside without fear washed over her. It was a small comfort, though she further consoled herself with the knowledge that tomorrow she would be reunited at last with all her loved ones.

A/N: THIS chapter, dear readers, was another one of the chapters my computer ATE some weeks ago, and I've been slaving over it to re-write it just they way I wanted. (We're still not quite done the story yet, of course.)

And to all of you who merrily skipped ahead to see how Nancy escaped, NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY! Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, and do not collect 200 dollars. Just kidding. Actually, I'd just ask you to go back to the start of the chapter to make sure you got all the details I so painstakingly worked on.

My thanks once again to all those who have reviewed and left encouraging comments. Two more chapters to go now, folks! Thanks for sticking with me for so long.