Frank started driving, making turns without even being told. He knew exactly where he was supposed to go and in less than forty minutes he stopped the van in the drive at Sorrel's mansion. He was escorted inside to Sorrel's study where the man was sitting at his desk; his gaze aimed at his computer screen.
"Sir," Piers said, interrupting Sorrel's concentration.
Sorrel turned to face them. His eyes were hard and his features marred by a troubled scowl. "Why?" he demanded, his nostrils flaring as he glared at Frank. "Why couldn't you and your father have stayed out of this?"
"Because it's my brother who is involved," Frank answered, his own ire up.
"Because of your interference Tippoli now has reason to believe I set him up!" thundered Sorrel. "You may never see Joe again!"
"Dad and the FBI have gone to Maine..." Frank began.
"Only to find an empty house," Sorrel snapped, finishing Frank's sentence. Frank fell silent as Sorrel continued. "We had agreed to a meeting. Joe would have accompanied me back but now Tippoli, his key men, and Joe, have all vanished. The Coraline, his yacht, was where he was expected to go but my men have reported that it has remained deserted."
"Do you honestly believe Tippoli would just let you go and get Joe and leave?" demanded Frank. "Kern..."
"Has nothing to do with this!" Sorrel screeched. Sorrel stopped speaking and took a deep calming breath. He leaned back in his chair before exhaling. "Kern worked for me and he was caught. Tippoli let me know that Kern had been released, unharmed. He has a man in his ranks that he suspects is a traitor and this man isn't working for me. He is the man who set Kern up," Sorrel explained. "Matt Horace has been very discreet but Tippoli got wise to him while he was searching his ranks for my spy. Horace is more of a threat. Tippoli believes, as do I, that Horace is planning something major against both of us. Tippoli took your brother as an inducement for me to meet with him."
"But why Joe?" Frank demanded. "He and Marie aren't even dating anymore."
"Because Horace suggested him," Sorrel answered. "Obviously, your brother is a player in whatever Horace is planning."
"Can you arrange another meeting?" asked Frank anxiously.
"I have been trying to do so," Sorrel answered with a weary sigh. "But all I have is an e-mail address. Since the raid on Tippoli's Maine camp this morning I have sent an e-mail every thirty minutes but have yet to receive a reply."
"What do you know about Matt Horace?" inquired Frank, worry lines well pronounced on his forehead.
"Nothing," Sorrel answered. "Tippoli was going to let me see everything he had gathered on the man at our meeting."
"And we blew it," Frank said softly.
"Indeed," agreed Sorrel.
"What happens now?" asked Frank.
"Now I wait for Tippoli to contact me," Sorrel answered. "And you find out all you can about Matt Horace and who he is really working for."
Frank left Sorrel's shortly after that and drove straight home. "Has dad called yet?" he asked his mother who hurried to the door to greet him.
"No," Laura told him, her tone revealing immense displeasure. "Where did you go?" she demanded. "You said you were going to Callie's. She called to talk to you about an hour ago. I've been worried sick!"
"I'm sorry," apologized Frank, putting an arm around his mother's shoulders and leading her back into the living room. He told her where he had been, leaving out the part where Piers and his buddy had hijacked him.
"Why did you go and see Sorrel?" Laura demanded.
"Because Kern isn't the reason Joe was taken," Frank answered. "And no," he continued before she could ask. "I don't know why he was but once we find out all we can about Matt Horace then we may know. I'm going to go to Dad's office and see what I can find out online," he said, kissing her forehead before putting action to his words.
Frank went straight to his father's office and started a web-wide search for Matt Horace. He had barely begun when the phone on the desk rang. "Dad?" Frank answered the phone, expecting it to be his father. His face paled and the hand holding the receiver grew sweaty as a familiar voice from the not so distant past entered his ear.