Please see warnings in Chapter 1 and thank you for your feedback so far. I'm glad you like the story!

Disclaimer: The Hardy Boys are owned by the Stratemeyer Syndicate and Simon and Schuster. I promise to return the boys to their rightful owners when I'm done playing with them for a bit. I'll even put them back in one piece!

Updated: August 4, 2004

Chapter Two

The memories flashed through Joe's mind as he drove through the Bayport streets, his mind seeing them as vividly today as he had two years ago. The younger Hardy always thought, if any of them died in reckless move, it would be him. Frank, always levelheaded, always strong, always thinking and planning many moves ahead, always thought before he acted.

Except for once. Once, and that had been at the cost of his life.

"He's in there," Frank's voice broke the silence as he looked away from the binoculars he stared through to peer sideways at Joe and Joe sighed, frowning at his brother's obviousness. Joe resisted the urge to say 'no duh' to his brother, as he picked up his own binoculars and peered through them, seeing the shadow of a man crossing in front of the windows of the upper stories of the old house on the outskirts of Bayport.

"Good, let's go get him," Joe lowered his binoculars and reached to open his door, only to be stopped by his brother.

"Not yet," Frank said. "We need a plan first."

Joe rolled his eyes and wished Frank would just get on with it for once. As much as he loved his brother, he hated it when Frank constantly stopped to think and plan and plod along like they had all the time in the world. This time, though, the clock was against them. They had exactly twenty minutes to stop Marcius Ras-Alman from his plan, which meant capturing, finding his triggering device and getting it away from him before he blew up most of the waterfront.

The police were now scouring the waterfront for the myriad of bombs planted all over but both Hardy brothers knew that the time was against him and that there was not enough police or enough time to get to all the bombs at once.

"You plan," Joe said to his brother. "I'll act."

Frank grabbed Joe's arm again, stopping the younger Hardy brother from moving. Joe rolled his eyes and twisted to get free but Frank dug in, holding more tightly to Joe to keep him from leaving the car.

"Just give me a minute, Joe," Frank said. "What if he has more bombs in there, huh? What if he's planning to blow this place up after he leaves? If he does have the triggering mechanism in there, we have to be careful. He could set it off before we have a chance to stop him."

Joe sighed and nodded. "And we still have... nineteen minutes."

Frank nodded. "All right, then, let's do it this way. You go..."

Frank stopped talking as something he saw in the house caught his eye. Joe looked to see what stopped him and, as he heard Frank open his door and sprint toward the house, he saw what stopped his brother; the silhouette of a woman in an upper window, hands obviously bound behind her back, face stark with terror.

"Frank, wait!" Joe called out as he opened his car door.

It was too late though. As he saw Ras-Alman running around the side of the house, moving swiftly toward a van parked in the front of the house, Frank opened the door leading into the house.

It blew only moments later, sending sparks and fire shooting up into the sky overhead. Joe stood, staring, eyes wide with astonishment, before his feet acted independently and he raced toward the burning house.

"FRANK!" he screamed, yelling his brother's name. "FRANK!"

The flames jetted higher as the van carrying Ras-Alman sped off into the night. Joe raced toward the house, getting as close as he dared, feeling the intense heat searing the skin of his face. He tried to get closer but the heat kept him back.

Not again, he thought despairingly. Not again, please, God, don't let me lose another one.

Everyday Joe remembered Iola, his first girlfriend, going up in flames in their car outside of the mall, in a bomb meant for Joe and Frank. And now another, lost to a terrorist bent on destruction.

No, he mentally begged. NO. No, no, no!

Things after that were a blur for him. He remembered fire trucks. He remembered someone pushing him back. He remembered voices talking to him, asking him questions he couldn't possibly understand since they didn't seem to be speaking English to him. Everything had become numb for him and he'd finally fallen, his legs no longer able to hold him up. He heard more sirens, heard a familiar voice asking him if he was OK and answering.

He saw Con Riley then and saw Con's face moving but Joe couldn't hear anything the police officer asked him. He kept staring at the house where his brother had been.

"F-Frank," he stammered finally. "They h-have to find F-Frank."

Con stared at him and Joe met Con's gaze. Joe's eyes were wide with shock and disbelief and fear. He looked back toward the house.

"Frank was there. Have to get him out, Con. Have to."

Joe struggled to his feet again and started to run forward, only to be caught by his friend and held back.

"You can't go in there, Joe," Con said. The first thing Joe understood since Con asked him if he was all right.

"Frank's in there!" Joe screamed. "I have to go. I can't lose him, too! I can't, Con. I have to go in there. You have to let me go in there!"

"NO. Joe! Stop fighting me or I'm going to handcuff you and lock you in my squad. Right now, Joe!"

Joe gawked at Con, for only a moment, then sagged back, tears springing to his eyes. He was surprised to see tears coming from Con, too and let the older man hug him.

"I'm so sorry, Joe," Con said. "You know... you know there's no way he could have survived that, don't you? You know that."

Joe shook his head in denial. "He has to be alive, Con. He has to be. I have to go look. Let me go!"

Joe struggled, again, valiantly trying to break free of his older friend to go and save his brother's life. He wasn't going to lose Frank to Ras-Alman, he wasn't.

"Joe, stop it!" Con ordered again. "Stop it!"

"Con," Joe felt the tears building, tears he didn't want to give into. "I can't lose him. I can't. He's my brother. My best friend. Please, let me go look."

"I'm so sorry, Joe," Con whispered back to him. "I really am sorry."

Joe stopped struggling and slumped again, letting Con draw him farther back from the scene of the fire.

It was later they got the word that Frank died in the fire and, with him, Callie Shaw. It had been an incredible blow, to lose not only his brother, but also his brother's girlfriend. Joe knew that had been what had caused Frank to act so recklessly, to dive into the house without stopping to consider the options, as he had been about to do.

And the pain of that day was still with Joe.


"Which is why I'm going where angels fear to tread," Joe thought as he steered his Corvette toward the marina. The Wharf he was going to, Porter Wharf, was an old, dilapidated building in a not so good side of town. Joe knew going there, at this time of the night, by himself, was every bit as foolish as Vanessa thought but Joe couldn't help himself. Just the thought that he might find out something about Frank were the magic words anyone needed to get to Joe.

Still, he thought with some sense of urgency, I have to find out if there's something I don't know. I don't... I can't ignore this.

Joe sighed and brushed back his hair again, getting it out of his eyes so he could see the road better. The lane he drove along twisted and curved with the contours of the bay itself and sometimes it was too narrow for two cars to pass. Finally, though, he pulled up outside of the wharf and stopped, turning off his car and climbing out.

"Over here," a voice called from nearby. Joe couldn't see the person talking to him but he heard the voice clearly enough. Joe walked slowly, cautiously, ready to do battle if he had to but finally saw the man standing underneath the large Elm tree situated near the side of the wharf.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Joe asked, going on the defensive as he studied the other man. It was hard to tell in the dark shadows just what the man looked like; the other man was being careful to stay in the shadows, out of the light itself.

"My name isn't important, what is is what I know," the man said. "I've got news for you, if you want to hear it."

"What's in it for you?" Joe asked. If this were an informant or something, he'd want something.

"I don't want anything," the man said. "Except to pass along what I know and clear my conscience."

"And what do you know?" Joe asked, warily.

"This," the man said. He handed Joe a small packet. "Open that when you are back home. Just know this. Everything you thought you knew about your brother's death is wrong, Joe Hardy. Everything. This packet will explain it in more detail but here's what I have to say, exactly.

"Go to River Heights. Find the girl named Nancy Drew and show her the pictures inside of the envelope. She will know what to do.

"That's all I can say. I have to go."

"WAIT!" Joe exclaimed, springing forward. "Wait, you can't just lay a bomb on me like this and leave. What do you know, exactly? Why are you being so mysterious? Just come out and say it."

"I've said all I can say, Joe," the man said. "Now, go. And, Joseph, hurry. Time is of the essence. Go."

The man turned and, with a swirl of a long trench coat, was gone.

Joe looked down at the packet in his hands and back up at the shadows where the man disappeared, torn between the desire to tear the packet open immediately and chasing down the man to pummel more news out of him. He hated games. He hated this spy stuff and he hated people playing games with him. Joe suspected the man 'helping him' was doing all three.

"All right," he sighed as he went back to his Corvette. "Let's see where this takes us."

End Chapter Two