THE NETWORK MYSTERY
By Cassidy Montague
Chapter Eight – "Which Way Did the Plot Go?"
A harsh cough wracked Frank Hardy as he struggled to catch his breath and breath through the throat-cracking pain that came with the cough. For several minutes he lay in agony, uncomfortable on a pile of old blankets against the wall in a drafty room as he concentrated merely on breathing, in and out, in and out, focusing only on that small movement until he felt more in control. Frank shivered with cold; the room was not heated and even though it was early autumn outside it was cold in here.
Frank's illness-fogged brain caught onto little beyond the fact that he wasn't at home, that he didn't know where he was and that he felt like crap. Other little points eluded him, like how he had come to be here, like where his nice warm, comfortable sofa was. Frowning with the effort to remember, he winced when he coughed again and felt the force of it in his throat again.
"Ouch," he gasped, or tried to. It came out more as a raspy moan than anything else and he shivered in pain.
Frank struggled for a moment and got into a sitting position and leaned on the cold wall behind him. He grabbed one of the ratty blankets on the ground and wrapped it around his legs and closed his eyes again, determined to go back to sleep and wake up from this very strange dream a little later.
"Kid," a gruff voice said to him. "Wake up, kid."
Frank's eyes popped open and he looked up into the face of a man wearing a black mask and dark sunglasses. How in the world did he see anything in here with those dark glasses on? Frank studied the glasses for a moment and his eyes widened with surprise a moment later when he realized the man wasn't wearing normal sunglasses. Those sunglasses saw the infrared spectrum!
Way cool, Frank thought fuzzily. Very cool!
The black-clad man knelt beside the dark-haired boy and studied him for a moment and Frank coughed a few more times, eventually collapsing back against the wall again for support.
"How long you been sick kid?" the black-clad man asked.
"Since… 'morning…" Frank rasped. "Woke up… w'it…"
"And you were out at the church watching illicit diamond purchases?" the man demanded in a much rougher voice than before.
"Helpin'… sale…" Frank hated talking. The effort really hurt his throat and he sounded like crap. "Why… here?"
"I'm asking the questions here, Kid," the man declared loudly. Frank winced and held his hands to his ears. It wasn't necessary to yell! "You were out helping at that sale when you were sick."
It was more a statement than a question but Frank nodded anyway.
"Why?" the man asked.
"Girl…friend… need…ed… me…" Frank gasped. He wanted to curl up very badly and go back to sleep. "Promised. Had to… help."
"And while you were there you saw Arthur Gray buy the diamonds," this was also not a question but more a statement of fact. Frank shrugged, though.
"Dunno," he said. "Saw an… 'bit-ry. Said he's dead. Must not… been Gray…"
The man got closer to Frank, grabbing the sick young man's shoulder and shaking him a bit.
"Don't play games with us Kid," the man demanded hotly. Frank looked up at him, exhausted and sick, not really caring. "We know what you saw. We know you were there."
"Then why… asking me?" Frank demanded. "Don't… care."
"You would though," the man hissed. "You would if you were better and you would be sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. We know all about you and your brother. You like to meddle."
"They'll… find me…" it was a simple statement of fact, one that Frank knew well. His brother and his father would look for him and find him. That's how it always worked. His brain was waking up and he was aware now that he'd been kidnapped – obviously for what they thought he knew about the diamonds.
"They'll try," the man pushed Frank back. "We know that you've had… associations… with Gray before. We want to know everything you have ever done for him. Where he might stay if he was Bayport."
"Don't know," Frank rasped. "Never knew he stayed… long. Lives in… D.C… I think. Doesn't like us. Doesn't tell us much. Thinks we can't be trusted. Keeps at arm's length all the time."
"You know about the Assassins," the man stated.
Frank shrugged. "Course," he said. "No secret. Killers. Terrorists. Bad guys."
The man grunted. "And your friend, Gray, was buying diamonds from them. Why?"
Frank's eyes popped open again in surprise and the man grunted again. "Didn't know that was an Assassin you saw, did you?" he asked.
"Don't know… many Assassins. Never got on… first name basis. Tried to kill us though. More than once. Killed… my brother's… girlfriend… in our car."
It still pained Frank to think of Iola Morton, killed when a bomb in his and Joe's car went off. Iola didn't deserve to die.
"Never knew about them before that," Frank admitted. "Assassins. Just knew they wanted us dead. Wanted to kill Senator Walker. Had to save him too. They didn't like that. Keep playing games with us."
The man knelt again, studying Frank intently, as if trying to discern the truth.
"And what about Gray?" he asked again.
"Thinks we meddle," Frank repeated. "Doesn't like us but will use us if he needs to. Doesn't trust us. Nearly gotten us killed more than once. My dad doesn't like him at all."
The captor smiled. "We have something in common then. I don't like him either."
Frank rewarded the man with a brief shrug. The man grinned.
"Sorry we had to do things this way, young Frank," the man said. "And I know you're sick. I have reason to believe that you were going to be killed by the Assassins for what you saw. We had to take you to make sure that your father would take the appropriate actions, see to the safety of your mother and Aunt. I'm pretty sure they'll be here later on to try to find you. I haven't decided if they will yet."
Frank frowned as he sat up. He was feverish, coughing, aching, his throat hurt and his lungs felt heavy. Breathing was an effort and staying awake was starting to elude him again.
"I'll get you some medical help now, Frank," the man said softly. "You'll be better in no time. Now let's go."
Frank stiffened as the man bent to help him to his feet. He hung on tightly as he was led out of the dark cold room and into a brighter hallway. He shielded his eyes with one hand and held on as best he could as he was brought into a much nicer room down the hallway.
The man laid him down on the bed in the room and ordered him under the blankets. It was so warm and cozy that Frank did as he was ordered, not caring, for the moment, that he was in the lair of a possible enemy. Coughing, he bent over the side of the bed for a moment until he was able to spit into a bowl placed beside the bed and he collapsed back weakly and fell into a troubled, cough-filled sleep.
NETWORKMYSTERYNETWORKMYSTERYNETWORKMYSTERYNETWORKJoe jerked awake around mid afternoon, his stomach grumbling and he looked around his room in confusion for several minutes before he rubbed at his eyes and swung his feet off the bed. Sitting up, he looked around, trying to remember where he was and why he had either slept so late or just now waken up.
It only took moments, brief flashes of memory formed in his mind as he remembered Frank's kidnapping, the meeting with the Gray Man, sending his mother and aunt to London and going to bed so that he and his father could storm the Bastille and free the prisoner inside – his brother Frank. Joe blinked for a moment and rubbed at his eyes again; he hated throwing off his sleep schedule like this. It felt like he arriving on the other end of a long trip that resulted in jet lag and he always hated the disorienting feeling that brought.
Joe got up and padded to the bathroom he shared with his older brother. He splashed water over his face and brushed the grit out of his teeth, grimacing when he remembered not brushing them before bed. He hated the feeling of gritty teeth when he woke up.
He took a few minutes cleaning up and waking up before he went out to find appropriate clothing for the nights venture, namely dark clothing and a baseball cap to hide most of his blonde hair from view. Joe often envied his father and brother their dark hair, if only because it made skulking about in shadows easier. Mashing his hair under a hat never gave Joe any confidence at all and it took forever to comb out later.
Nothing, however, was too good for his brother so if he had to mash his hair for a while, he would. Joe got dressed in the dark clothing, a pair of jet-black jeans and a black long-sleeved tunic. Joe looked at himself in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. He might have to put some soot or something on his face but he'd let his father determine just how much darkening they needed before they went after Frank.
Stepping out into the hallway, Joe heard his father moving around downstairs; the murmur of his voice drifted up the stairs and Joe rushed down the stairs and into Fenton's office. His father raised a hand to him, indicating he should be quiet, while Fenton finished his phone call.
"…I know but it's the… yeah… I know… John…John… John!" Fenton exclaimed, getting the other man's attention the only way he knew how. "Let me get a word in edgewise, would you?"
Joe heard the voice on the other end of the line but couldn't make out any of the words. He slid into the chair he vacated earlier and listened to his father's side of the conversation.
"I know everything you've told me," Fenton said again slowly, enunciating each word carefully as if talking to a simpleton. "But that doesn't change anything. They have my son. Do you understand that part, John? They not only have my son but they threatened the rest of us when they took him. I have absolutely no reason at all to believe that the men who took Frank are on my side at all. If they had his best interests at heart, why the black ops? Why steal him away without letting us know what's going on? Why scare us all into thinking he might be killed? If they were on our side, they would have given us more to go on, but they haven't."
Fenton listened for a few minutes, occasionally saying uh huh, and sure, and yeah okay but… then he cut in again.
"I don't care, John," Fenton said. "Right now I care about one thing. Getting Frank back. Period. Anyone and anything else can go straight to hell for all I care. Do you understand that much? Is that inside your head now? Tell me it is, John."
Joe smiled broadly as he watched his father in action. His father was leaning on his desk rather than sitting in his chair and he was holding the phone like a weapon, ready to smash it down on someone's head if he didn't get his way immediately. Joe always liked this side of his father, the rare times that he saw it.
John, obviously John Amos, a guy Joe had met once or twice in his life and an old acquaintance of his father's, obviously didn't really know what he was up against because Joe had the feeling the other man was arguing again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm not about to let this go, John," Fenton declared hotly. "And if you knew me at all, you would know that. I just wanted to give you fair warning about what's going to happen – for some stupid reason I actually think I owe you but I'm beginning to wonder why. Consider this your single warning. I am going to get my son back. I am going to most likely shoot anyone who gets in the way. Or at least hurt them a lot. I don't know just how far into the Network you are but whatever the case is, remember this. Frank is my son. MY son. Nobody plays games with my family. Got it?"
It was dark by the time Fenton hung up a few moments later, without bothering to say goodbye, and he looked at his younger son.
"Well," he muttered forlornly. "That didn't go so well but I got some information. John is of the opinion that Frank was taken by the Network to keep him safe from the Gray Man, the assassins and whatever game they're playing. As you can tell, he thinks I should just leave Frank where he is, that he's safe and we should let this go and get into hiding ourselves. You basically heard the rest."
"That's insane!" Joe exclaimed as he sprang to his feet and smacked his right fist into his left hand. "They threatened to kill mom and aunt Gertrude. They threatened all of us. It's stupid! Does he think we were born yesterday? You don't think he's involved, do you? Maybe he's working for the other side."
Fenton frowned and shrugged. "If he has, he has plenty of opportunity to stop us before we storm the warehouse. How are you feeling?"
"Ready to storm Fort Knox," Joe declared. "Except I think I might get something to eat. You want a sandwich?"
His father agreed to that plan and went with Joe into the kitchen. They had a meal of sandwiches and chips and carrot sticks and then Fenton pulled out his map of the warehouse and spread it over the dining room table while Joe put the dishes into the dishwasher.
"Here are the entrances," Fenton said. "I think we should go in through here," he pointed to a window on the second floor. "We can work our way down from there. It'll be a harder insertion but less guarded. We'll have to climb up to the roof, move very quietly across, lower a rope and swing in. All things I know you can handle."
"Of course," Joe agreed.
"Once we get in we move cautiously and slowly, alternating down the hall toward entrances. Memorize those, Joe."
Joe looked over the map and carefully studied those. According to the legend an inch was 10 feet and the doors were spaced about ten feet apart. That would mean running from one to another.
"We'll check as many doors as we can," Fenton continued. "And then go down here…"
He pointed to a staircase on the map. "Any guards we run into we neutralize them. I've got a supply of tranq darts, we can use those to take them out, quietly. I want us to stay together at all times – do not lose sight of me ever. Got it?"
"Got it," Joe agreed.
"If we find Frank we'll try to get him out together," Fenton continued. "If we don't, I want you out as fast as you can go and calling Chief Collig. I'll have him, along with my other contact, ready to go just in case. Okay?"
Joe nodded and took a deep breath. It was going to happen. They were going to get out.
He was about to stand up again when all of a sudden a very bright light shone into the living room. They both stood back away from the door as they heard a voice from a megaphone outside.
"Fenton and Joseph Hardy. You are surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"