Chapter 4

"Frank!" Laura cried and started towards her son.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" snapped the man sharply, tightening his grip on Frank. Laura stopped. She could see that Frank was terrified and looked as though he might burst into tears.

"What do you want?" Laura asked, struggling to keep her voice calm.

"You'll find out soon enough," said another voice from behind her and Laura turned to see another masked man standing at the back door, a gun in his hand aimed directly at her.

"Move back to the table," he told her, waving the gun as he did so. Laura moved slowly back towards Joe, who had now stopped crying and was sitting frozen in his seat.

The man holding Frank began to move into the kitchen.

Laura turned her gaze on him. "Please don't hurt him!" she begged.

The man ignored her and moved into the centre of the kitchen, dragging Frank with him. Two more masked men entered the kitchen behind him. Laura felt the blood pounding in her head and thought she might faint, but forced herself to remain calm for the boys' sake.

The last two men moved to Laura's side and pulled her away from Joe. The other man moved into the kitchen, slamming the back door behind him. He walked over to the kitchen table and dragged Joe roughly from the chair, bringing a cry of alarm and pain from the child.

"What do you want?" Laura cried again, watching the men who were holding her sons fearfully.

"We want a word with Fenton Hardy," answered the man who was holding Frank. Laura could see that silent tears had now begun to slide down Frank's face.

"He's not here!" said Laura desperately.

"Oh, I know that," laughed the man holding Frank. "But he is due to ring you this evening by seven, isn't he? After all, you warned him to call on time this evening."

Laura gasped. "How did you…"

"We tapped your phone," the man informed her coldly. "And you'd better hope that Fenton does ring on time this evening, because I don't like waiting!"

Her heart beating painfully against her chest, Laura nodded. "He'll ring."

"Good." The man gave a curt nod to the men holding Laura and they immediately released her. "You may change into dry clothes," he told her. "But remember, we have your sons here, so don't try anything funny."

Laura didn't move. "I'll stay. Let my sons change into dry clothes."

"I told you to!" the man snarled. "I want something cooked for me and my men while we wait, and I don't want you catching cold and sneezing into it!"

Laura could see her children shivering with fear and cold, and gaped at the cruel selfishness of this man.

Suddenly, one of the men beside Laura spoke up. "Let them all change. They're all wet and if they get sick, it means extra work for us. We need them in one piece."

Laura was shocked by how young this man's voice sounded and turned to him.

He ignored her and kept his eyes - all that she could see of his face through the balaclava - fixed firmly on the man holding Frank. Finally, he nodded and released Frank.

"Fine!" he snapped. "But one at a time! This kid can go first and you can go with him."

The man with the young voice nodded and moved across to Frank.

The first man, who appeared to be the leader, took Frank by the shoulders and shook him hard. "You listen to me, kid. You're going upstairs with this man and you're going to change into dry clothes. Then you come straight back downstairs. Try anything funny and I'll slit your little brother's throat!"

Frank felt his knees go weak at the man's threat and stole a terrified glance at his brother. Joe was pale and his eyes were half closed.

"I won't do anything, I promise!" he said desperately, as the other man hurried him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

On the way to the bedroom the brothers shared, the masked man stopped at the bathroom and pulled a towel from the rail. He passed it to Frank. "You're going to need to dry yourself first," he informed him.

Once in the room, the man instructed Frank to pull the dry clothes out and leave them on his bed. Frank did as he was bid and stared nervously at the man. Was he going to remain while Frank changed?

The man turned and walked back to the door. He remained standing in the doorway with his back to Frank. "I won't look," the man said. "But I'm standing right here so don't try anything."

Quickly, Frank stripped off his sopping wet clothes and dried himself with the towel. He found it difficult to put on the dry clothes because his hands were shaking with fear and cold. When he was finished, he threw the wet towel and clothes into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. Even in a crisis, Frank was neat.

"I'm finished," he told the man shakily.

The man turned around and surveyed him. "Back downstairs," he ordered, indicating with his gun.

Frank obliged and returned to the kitchen.

His mother cast a relieved look in his direction. Frank had been gone less than ten minutes and even looked a little calmer, which meant nothing could have happened. Laura knew nothing about these men or what they were capable of, and her mind had run rife with possibilities while Frank was upstairs and out of her sight.

The man who had gone upstairs with him kept his gun trained on Frank.

"Your turn!" snarled the man in charge, turning to Joe.

"I think you should let her go with him," said the man who had his gun on Frank, as he indicated Laura. "She won't try anything while we've got this kid here, and that other kid doesn't look like he can do much right now."

The man pointed at Joe's hand which he had cradled across his chest, and Frank was alarmed to see his brother's hand was still bleeding and had stained the front of his sweater.

"Who's running this operation? You or me?" questioned the first man dangerously. The man holding the gun on Frank merely shrugged. "I was just trying to help."

The other man watched him closely for a second or two. "FINE!" he growled, and turned to Laura. "Take that kid upstairs and get dry clothes for both of you. But if you try anything, and I mean anything, this kid dies a horrible death!"

He grabbed Frank and put the gun to his head once more as he finished speaking.

Laura nodded, terrified, her eyes moving back and forth between her sons.

The man standing beside Laura prodded her forward with his gun, while the man with the young voice pulled Joe out of the kitchen.

Once upstairs, the man with the young voice turned to Laura. "Take two towels from the bathroom and get the clothes you require from the boys' room. Then follow us to your own room. Try anything and I'll shoot him on the spot," he finished, pointing at Joe.

Laura nodded and quickly did as she was told, also grabbing the first aid kit.

As she entered her room, Laura's heart almost broke when she saw Joe's lost little figure standing between the two men, their guns trained on him.

The man with the young voice looked at her. "We'll be standing in the doorway. We won't look, but remember what will happen to your son downstairs if you try anything."

Laura nodded, the terrified lump in her throat increasing. The men crossed the room and stood in the doorway, their backs to Laura and Joe. Laura gave her frightened son a quick hug to reassure him before getting to work.

She stripped and dried Joe before getting him into dry clothes, all the while talking to him in quiet, soothing tones. Her task was hindered as she, like Frank, was shaking with fear and cold.

When Joe was done, Laura changed quickly, hoping that some dry clothes would help her stop shaking long enough to look at Joe's hand. It was still bleeding heavily and Laura was fearful that he might need stitches.

However, before she had the chance to look, one of the men called in to the room. "Ain't you done yet?"

It was the first time this man had spoken and his voice was harsh, like someone who smoked too many cigarettes.

Laura winced and answered timidly. "We're dressed, but I just want to look at my son's hand…"

"Do it downstairs!" the man snapped, striding into the room and yanking Laura to a standing position from where she had been sitting on the bed, before pushing her towards the door. "On your feet, kid!" he growled, turning to Joe.

Joe stumbled off the bed. He was trying very hard not to cry, but he was terrified and his hand was burning with pain. As the man dragged him out of the room, Joe saw his mother's pale, frightened face and felt tears sting his eyes. His father was supposed to fight the bad guys…where was he now? Why wasn't he fighting these bad guys?

A strangled sob escaped from his throat and Joe quickly stifled it. His mother and Frank were being brave, so he had to be brave too.

Back in the kitchen, Joe was flung unceremoniously into a chair beside Frank and Laura was shoved roughly in the direction of the stove.

"Cook us something!" the leader ordered.

Something in Laura snapped a little. "No!" she said firmly, shocking everyone in the kitchen. "My son is injured, and until I've had the chance to look at his hand I won't be doing anything!"

"You'll do exactly as I say if you know what's good for you!" snarled the man dangerously, advancing on Laura.

"No!" she shook her head stubbornly.

The man drew back his hand and slapped her hard across the face.

Laura flinched and staggered, but then stood up and stared at him defiantly; she could see that his eyes were a cold, steely-grey behind the balaclava.

"Fine, if that's how you want it…" He strode over to Joe and put the gun to his head.

"I blow his brains out and you don't need to worry about his hand!"

"NO!" The scream ripped from her throat.

"Then do what you're damn well told!"

Laura looked at him pleadingly. "I'll do anything you want…please just let me look at his hand."

"Ah Christ, this is getting us nowhere!" the fourth man expostulated. Laura had not heard him speak before and noted that he spoke with an English accent. "Let her look at the bloody hand, maybe we'll get something to eat quicker…"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" the leader roared so loudly that everyone in the kitchen jumped. "I let the bitch and her brats change their clothes, didn't I? I think I've been very considerate up till now, but I'm just about out of patience!"

He cocked the hammer of the gun that he still had aimed at Joe's head.

"NO!" shouted Laura, Frank and the man with the young voice at the same time.

The leader swivelled to look at his own man, now pointing the gun at him.

"I understand why they don't want him dead," he said, his voice softly evil. "What's your excuse?"

"We still need him. Kill him now and you'll get nothing from Hardy." The young voice was cold and didn't waver once.

The leader was quiet for several minutes. He looked around the kitchen and dropped the gun. "You've got five minutes," he told Laura.

Laura didn't say another word. She was at Joe's side with the first aid kit in a second. Taking his hand in hers, she quickly examined it. The gash was long and deep, and it was still bleeding, although not quite so heavily as before.

Damn, she thought, her heart sinking. He needs stitches…

Laura knew she needed to keep the wound clean until she could get Joe to a doctor. She attempted to clean the wound with antiseptic wipes, but Joe immediately pulled his hand from hers, crying out in pain.

"That hurts!"

"I know, sweetie," she said gently. "But it'll only sting for a minute or two, and then afterwards your hand won't feel so sore."

She reached for his hand again but Joe pulled it against his chest and shook his head frantically.

"Joe, please…" Laura begged. She didn't have time for this.

"No!" He shook his head stubbornly.

"Joe," Laura tried to keep the fear and impatience out of her voice, "I need you to be a brave boy and let me clean your hand. I promise, it'll only hurt for a minute."

"Enough!" spat the leader. "Kid, do as your mother tells you…or I'll kill your brother." He put the gun to Frank's head. "Do you want to be responsible for your brother's death?"

Terrified, Joe shook his head. "N-no! Don't h-hurt him! I'll be good!" He stuck his hand out quickly, nearly striking his mother in his panic.

"Clever boy," sneered the leader, keeping the gun on Frank. "C'mon lady, clean the brat's hand!"

Fuming with anger and fear at the way this man was playing with her children's minds, Laura cleaned and bandaged Joe's hand, her heart wrenching with pity as he moaned in pain.

When she was done, Laura stood up and faced the leader. "I'll cook for you now."

He moved the gun he had trained on Frank and pointed it at Laura instead. "Well then, get going."

Several hours later, they all sat in silence waiting for the phone to ring.

The three Hardys were tightly bound to their chairs. The men had tied them up before sitting down to eat, and had left them there once finished.

Laura was frantically clock watching. Seven o'clock had come and gone; it was now nearly eight fifteen.

Oh God, Fenton, please ring, please ring, please ring…

Laura could see that the men were growing impatient.

"This is taking too long," the man with the English accent complained.

"It is, isn't it?" the leader said, and turned on Laura. "Looks like your husband really doesn't care about you or your kids. He'd have rang by now if he did."

"He'll ring!" Laura insisted desperately.

"No, I don't think he will," said the man coldly, pointing his gun at her face. "Which means that you've just lost your usefulness…"

"Please!" Laura begged. "My boys…"

The moment was suddenly shattered by the shrill ringing of the telephone!