CHAPTER 3
Four hours later, Fenton had hashed through all the documents a third time, stunned at the scope of the plot. Three years worth of diversions of money and supplies from the island's security force funneled through a variety of government agencies, enough to maintain a private army. Connor had stumbled upon the money transfers and tracked them back to crooked officials, only contacting Fenton when he realized this wasn't about merely lining the pockets of a few bigwigs. This was about planning a coup.
"Connor, look. You're sure you don't know of anyone that links all these people together?"
"Fenton, I don't. They're all from different departments, work in different circles. Given some time, I might be able to worm my way in, but with the recent increase in activity, I'm not sure how long I've got to do that."
"You still don't get it, do you? This isn't going to happen a month from now. Probably not even a week. You need to tell me who we can go talk to about this right now. This is too involved to stop at this point; the best we can hope for is being ready."
The shorter man flinched, unwillingly hearing the truth in that assessment. "Okay. Okay, you're right." He stalled his pacing long enough to run a tired hand over his eyes, letting go of his last hope that he was simply being crazy. Odd how staring at a civil war made crazy sound like an appealing alternative.
President Moluki wouldn't want to overthrow his own government, of that much Connor was sure. And while there was no reason for him to be willing to speak to the junior staffer directly, his vice president might talk to either Connor or Fenton - with a few strings pulled by Connor's prominent father-in-law anyway. Fenton agreed to the plan, not sure they had much time for anything else.
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Which is how the American detective found himself trying to organize the evidence into as concise a format as possible an hour later when his sons entered the room with Chet and Biff in tow.
"Man, is it raining out there, Mr. Hardy." Biff gave an apologetic shrug as he looked at the water puddling around his sneaker clad feet.
"Yeah, cats and dogs would be a real improvement, Dad. I'm soaked through. Where's Mom?" Joe's glance took in the open doors to the bath and patio, revealing his mother was in neither location.
"She's in your room packing, actually." The sleuth indicated the table to forestall protests. "Sit, boys."
Joe started to speak again and caught the look on his father's face about the same time Frank's hand landed on his shoulder. Silently, the four youths slid into the chairs around the table. Fenton outlined the situation as quickly as he could, carefully boiling it down to barebones need-to-know and ending with the fact that all of them would be on the first flight out.
"So, Connor knew this was some sort of overthrow plot when he invited us here?" Frank shook his head, feeling only slightly less betrayed than his father.
"Yes. Although, I think he truly deluded himself into thinking it was weeks away and you'd be safe. This is a small nation that's only a generation removed from a warlord system. The current president is the only elected leader they've ever had and even that's been tenuous. He's served in office eighteen years with stiff opposition from paramilitary types at the end of each of his three terms. Now elections are looming and he's ineligible to run again, so the situation is unstable. A serious challenge to democratic government now will undo all the reforms he's managed to make and plunge the island back into a feudal mess. At least if he's forewarned, there's a chance of protecting the capitol's citizens from widespread violence."
Fenton took a long breath before continuing. "Connor's father-in-law is some sort of senior statesman and can get us in to see the vice president's staff. I'm waiting for Connor to call me back and set a time."
Chet and Biff exchanged incredulous glances, while Frank and Joe seemed to be taking this a little more in stride - emphasis perhaps on the 'little'.
"Dad?"
"Yes, Frank?"
"I understand why we have to leave first chance we get. While there is a mystery here in finding out who is behind all of this, it isn't the kind of thing that's going to be resolved in a few weeks by an investigator. It isn't a crime, it's a war. What I don't understand is why you aren't coming with us."
"In spite of how he got us here, Connor was a good friend once, Frank. Right now he needs some back up making this case to his superiors, but I agree this isn't something I want to be involved in. Soon as we make this presentation, I'm on the next plane home. Connor asked me about providing security consulting for Moluki, but I turned him down."
Joe tilted his head, casting a quizzical look at his father. Like the other three boys, he was well aware Fenton had done that very job for American politicians on occasion, both at home and abroad. "Not that I disagree, Dad, but why'd you say no?"
"When I've done government security work before, I coordinated with local police, the FBI, even the Secret Service at times. Here I don't know if I can trust any of their counterparts. It would take months to sort out a reliable staff. Since there's no chance we have that long, I'll be coming home."
Laura re-entered the room, drinking in the sight of her children. Drenched, a bit subdued, but perfectly safe. Unfortunately, two simultaneous noises curtailed whatever she might have said.
A quick glance between them sent Fenton to pick up the phone while Frank answered the pounding on the door. The other boys stood also, Biff and Chet taking up a somewhat defensive stance while Joe repositioned himself between his mother and the door.
Fenton tried to keep an eye on the door as picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Fenton Hardy."
"Fenton?" The gurgling rasp of Connor Moore gasped over the line. "He knew. He already knew." The wheezing rattle increased, and then abruptly stopped.
"Connor? Who knew what? Connor?!" Fenton closed his eyes briefly, sadly no stranger to the sound of someone's final breath.
"Dad?"
His eyes shot back open at the tenuous tone in Joe's voice.
"I think we might have a problem."
Fenton stood perfectly still a full thirty seconds, letting the situation settle over him like a pall. Two men in camouflage were visible through the half opened door, firearms clearly evident. We're too late. It's started.
The smaller of the men held the door open, one hand on his gun, the other palming the intricately carved wood. The second intruder's hands were the ones that interested the detective, however. One held a semi automatic handgun, but the other was firmly wrapped around his oldest son.
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To be continued…