CHAPTER 5
The stucco and beam ceiling of the lobby held none of the charm of two days prior as the Hardys joined the cattle call of guests filtering in from the suites. The carved teak double doors were flanked by more militia, while Rao's presence was palpable behind Biff as he brought up the rear of the group.
Joe had been steered to the front, unsure what to expect as he emerged from the hallway. The hotel was modest in size to start with, and some of the patrons were Ranei nationals that had been herded outside. Still, a number of staff members appeared to be in the line along the lobby perimeter, swelling the nervous crowd to about two hundred people. Unfortunately there was more than enough firepower present to control the throng.
"Looks like Clipboard's sorting everyone at the front." Joe kept his voice low, aware Frank was directly behind him and would catch whatever he said.
"You're naming him Clipboard?"
"Why not? Clipboard, Rao, and Shorty. I don't think I'm on a first name basis with the others just yet."
"Yeah, well, I'm not sure even you can make friends with this bunch, Joe." Frank recognized his brother's need to talk about nothing as a venting mechanism. Sometimes he wondered if the random chatter was a cast off product of raw intuition somehow, the dregs of an equation unique to Joe. While his own planning strategies could rival a Benedictine monk for orderliness, Joe more often appeared to be aimlessly talking around the meat of the matter, right up to the verge of startling insights Frank often envied. Not that he was going to tell the kid that.
"Aw, I can make friends with anybody, bro, it's the Joe Hardy charm. But if I do, then we've got to invite them over, drag out the milk and cookies, maybe spring for a movie and popcorn. All in all, a big bother for someone I never want to see again."
"Glad to know your guidelines for house guests have limits. I'll settle for them not shooting any of us."
"Huh. And you're worried about my standards."
"Guys?" Chet's hushed voice broke into the conversation from behind Frank, no louder than the brothers, although a stifled sneeze was somewhat noisier. "Fascinating as it is, I think this discussion is over."
Joe paled at the expression on Shorty's face, reading the murderous glare as clearly as his friend had. Let's hope that's all that's over….
"I thought you were over the flu, Morton." Frank cast a concerned look at his friend.
Chet whispered back, shaking his head in mild annoyance. "I feel fine, really."
"Looks like we're next." Biff muttered the obvious as the group of four travelers ahead of them dispersed across the room. Thus far, there was a group of women along the right side wall of the lobby, none native by their appearance. A few were struggling to calm toddlers; others appeared stunned by the day's turn of events. The only teenagers in that grouping happened to be female, so it wasn't clear what the age criteria might be. The front corner of the room hosted a subdued group of males, more heavily guarded than the ladies. A half dozen men were segregated from the remainder, plastic zip handcuffs encircling their wrists and dark hoods covering their faces as they knelt on the floor.
Clipboard smiled the disingenuous smile again as the Hardys came to the front of the line. "Mr. Hardy, we meet again so soon. I assume all of these young men are not your sons?"
Fenton entertained a number of answers, but finally shrugged, knowing the passports would speak to the truth of the matter regardless of what he said. "No, only two. The others are their friends."
"What was the purpose of your visit here?"
Again the answer was carefully considered. This time a half truth seemed preferable. After all, being caught lying was probably no worse than the actual reason. "A family vacation. Maybe you saw the surfboards in our room."
"A long way to travel to sun yourselves, no?" Clipboard appraised the group, obviously uncertain of Fenton's explanation but having no specific information to the contrary. "Very well. Ladies and children are being sent back to their home countries. If your wife will join the others to the right?"
Fenton felt Laura's grip tighten on his arm, conveying her reluctance to leave him, earlier conversation notwithstanding. His hand rested in the small of her back, offering support as they had made their way down the hall. As much as he didn't want to, he gave her a small nudge in the soldier's direction.
"It's ok, Laura. It'll be ok. Go ahead." He kissed the top of her head, silently praying he hadn't just lied to his wife. "I love you."
She nodded, unable to say a word. Swallowing against tears that would help nothing she brushed her fingertips over his face and then toward her sons, unable to reach them before she was led away from her husband.
"Touching, no doubt." Clipboard looked bored with the worried faces before him. "Perhaps you could redirect your attention to me, Mr. Hardy, as I possess the gun."
Fenton took a deep breath, willing any trace of anger from his voice. Being polite was a battle, but if he hoped to protect his family, it was one he'd have to win. "Of course."
"What is your occupation?"
Again the urge to avoid the truth reared its head. Unfortunately the wallet he'd left in the room had far too much potential to give him away. "Private investigator."
"Interesting. And you maintain that you are here on vacation?"
"Yes."
Clipboard pursed his lips slightly, scribbling a note to himself. "Again, interesting." He nibbled at the end of his pen before pointing at Joe. "And his occupation?"
"He's still at school. They all are." Fenton laid a hand on Joe's forearm, a move not missed by the other man.
The militant inclined his head at the subtly protective gesture, congratulating himself on identifying the detective's other son. The darker boy was so evidently stamped by his sire that no challenge existed there.
"They're at university?"
"No. They're still in high school."
"Indeed? Hmm. High school is still part of the required education for children in the United States, yes?"
"Exactly." Fenton knew this was no time to mention that all four of the youths with him were past the age where they could technically leave school. He desperately needed Clipboard to view them as children.
The other man was doubtful, gaze travelling from the teenagers' faces to their feet and back again. Darn big children.
An argument across the lobby distracted him, his hand straying to the firearm on his belt. A soldier crouched by one of the kneeling men, the hood pulled back from his terrified face as the man stammered increasingly panicked answers. Finally, the soldier snorted, standing and firing in one motion. Silence descended in the large room as the man toppled sideways, blackened hole in the center of his forehead. The only sound came as the corpse knocked into the prisoner beside him, eliciting a dry, retching noise. A noise the soldier ended with a second fatal shot.
The tableau held for long miserable seconds, then the sniffled crescendo of muted crying and murmured reassurances began to percolate through the crowd. Fenton stole a glance at Laura. She had turned away from the murdered men and seemed to be whispering to a sobbing girl at her side.
Clipboard sighed, knowing he would have to reprimand the soldier involved. He couldn't care less that he had killed someone, but they had agreed to take that sort of thing outside. The hotel was to be used as a headquarters and there was simply no point in ruining the carpets. He'd have to hurry the sorting line up and get back to supervising his over-eager men. At least the Hardys were the next to last group.
"Very well, I will categorize the boys as rather large children." He paused, hardened expression leaving no doubt in Fenton's mind that any misbehavior on his part would change that assessment instantly. "If they will join your wife please?"
Fenton nodded, as much at the boys as at Clipboard. Please just let them make it out of here…
"Mr. Hardy, join the other gentlemen if you will." Clipboard indicated the milling group of standing men, amusement flitting across his face at the relief on the American's countenance. Relief that I sent his sons away, or at which group I assigned him to? I wonder…
An hour later the four teens sat on the floor, Laura resting her head against Frank's shoulder. All of them glanced at Fenton as often as they dared; convincing themselves he was okay, at least for now. The girl Laura had whispered to earlier now had her head in Mrs. Hardy's lap, deadened eyes staring blankly at the wall. Joe had made one attempt to speak to her, stopping when Laura pointed at the nearer of the two dead men sprawled on the rug. She mouthed the word 'father' and shook her head.
Rao made his way amongst the fortunate to be deported, checking passports and compiling a list. Frank handed theirs over, willing the horrendous day to end so they could devise a plan to help their dad. A perfunctory reading of each booklet and Rao passed them back to boys individually. Until he got to Frank's.
"Get up." The tone brooked no disobedience.
Frank stood, quietly gesturing at Joe to keep his seat. "Is there a problem?"
Rao ignored him, aside from repositioning his gun to have a clear shot at the youth, and waved Clipboard over.
Clipboard reviewed the passport, a small smile twisting his lips. "Well, well. Tell me, Mr. Hardy, are you particularly stupid?"
"What?" Frank had no idea why he was being asked that.
"Perchance smaller sentences are in order. Do you struggle at school? Have trouble learning things? Are you the class dunce?" The rapid thoughts he saw firing behind the coffee toned eyes convinced Clipboard that the boy was anything but.
"No." Rapid thought process or not, Frank still wasn't sure where this was going.
"I thought not, and yet according to this passport you are eighteen years of age. Too old to be attending a children's school it would seem."
"Yes. Or, rather, no." Frank could see there wasn't going to be an acceptable answer to this question. "I am eighteen, but I'm still in school. The school year is standardized; it doesn't correspond to what month you were actually born."
"The American educational system must be fascinating to someone, somewhere, but I find my own interest in it is minimal. What I do find interesting, however, is that I have a young adult hiding here among the children." Clipboard punctuated his sentence by latching onto a fistful of Frank's t-shirt and pulling him close.
Frank heard his friends get to their feet behind him, dreadfully aware this wouldn't end well. Calm. I have to be perfectly calm. "I'm not trying to hide. I went where you sent me."
"Maybe. Or maybe you are merely a coward. Did you need to stay over here with your mother? Too bad she opted against the skirt, no hem to cling to. Or that is not the saying, is it? Apron strings, I believe." Clipboard spoke to Frank, but was watching Joe, aware he almost had the younger boy. He could practically taste it. One more tug on the t-shirt and - Ah, there it was.
"He's not a coward! You're the one waltzing around with three dozen armed flunkies threatening to- " Joe's lunge forward was halted by the impact of Rao's gunstock with his face, blood trail from his broken nose spattering the floor as he landed. "Arghh!"
"Joe?!" Frank had time only for the one word before Rao blocked his path to his brother, but Joe was already half up, complements of a pull from Chet.
"I'm fine." Joe swiped at the blood on his face with the back of his hand, willing the instant pounding in his head to subside. He hoped Frank wouldn't notice Biff shifting to prevent him from falling backward.
Chet meanwhile turned his attention to Mrs. Hardy, worried she might make an ill advised lunge of her own. The expression she turned on the man threatening her sons wasn't one he'd ever seen on her face before.
"Family drama. Always lovely, is it not? Now, where were we before I was so rudely interrupted by your brother, young man? Oh yes. I was pondering whether you were the class dunce or simply a coward. I see that wondering who the hothead of the family is would be rather a waste of time." He cast a wry look at Joe.
"Rao, my friend, would you escort our young companion to join his father? I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience allow him to leave with these other adorable little tykes." He pinched Joe's cheek like an annoying old uncle, tremendously amused at the anger simmering in the boy's eyes.
Rao wrapped a paw of a hand around Frank's bicep, gun finding the same niche in his ribs as earlier. He made it a solitary step before another soldier approached them, animatedly waving a sheaf of papers in his hands.
"Are we never to finish this conversation?" Clipboard looked irritated with his underlings. He'd had his fun with the Hardys and now wanted to resume his other tasks.
"Think you'd rather see this first sir." He handed the papers over. The group from Bayport cringed at the sight of the charred edges and smeared ashes.
"My apologies, this is interesting information." Clipboard scanned a few more pages and then cracked his first true smile of the afternoon. "Very interesting, as a matter of fact. Cil, bring me Fenton Hardy."
Fenton offered no protest as the handcuffs clasped his wrists, having already witnessed the chaos swirling around his sons. If the shiny new hardware was what it took to get near them, then it suited him fine. He quietly followed behind the one called Cil, wondering if the situation could be salvaged.
"Mr. Hardy, it would seem we are destined to spend the day together. To think I neglected to bring a monopoly board, or even a football to pass about. Pigskin is the crass term you use, correct?"
Fenton shrugged at the shorter man, waiting for some information to guide his responses.
"Quiet, I see." Clipboard thumbed along the edges of the seared paperwork. "That is quite alright. I expect that we shall have hours to speak to one another, explore all those mundane American entertainments. I hear boxing is still popular in the States?" The interrogative note was loaded with implications that didn't bear thinking about.
"For now, though, you are interrupting a rather intriguing moment between Frank and I. Although I must admit your interruption style is more subtle than Joseph's."
Fenton stiffened at the sight of Joe's face, having already spotted the gun prodding Frank. Once again he said nothing.
"I was about to send Frank to join you, Mr. Hardy. Really, Fenton, did you think I would not notice the boy's of age? He scarcely belongs on the plane out of here."
"I merely said he was still in school -which happens to be the case."
"An argument your son has already made. Not that it matters after the little gift Cil brought me." Clipboard watched the older man, wondering how long he'd remain calm. So far he was doing better than expected.
"I shall tell you what I think." Clipboard tapped the documents as he spoke. "I think you have ties to the Moluki administration that will be very useful to us. And I have doubts that your eighteen year old son is a schoolboy. I am no expert on American culture, but I am well versed enough to know he is an adult by your standards. It seems to me that if you are working with the traitors of our government, there is a substantial chance he is as well."
"I have no information of interest to you." Fenton shifted uncomfortably. He really didn't have any information they'd want. And that meant he had nothing to bargain with.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Rao tends to be very good at ferreting these things out. What to do with Frank, though? A perplexing question, yes?"
"Frank isn't involved in this." Fenton let his eyes skim the blackened papers, willing the other man to hear the truth of the statement. "Please."
"Hmm. As I said, we will have plenty of time to discuss it after the deportees are gone. Cil, escort Mr. Hardy back to his room. Rao and I will be joining you shortly."
Clipboard paused to smirk at Laura and then returned his gaze to his oversized assistant. "Rao, take Frank to join the others."
Waiting a moment for effect, he allowed Rao to get halfway to the thirty odd men standing in the corner of the lobby. "Oh, and Rao? Not that bunch."
The smirk deepened into a laugh as Frank was kicked to his knees among the four surviving hooded men, hands roughly wrenched behind him.
"No… No, no you can't take him…" Joe didn't realize he'd spoken aloud, much less lurched forward again, not even when Biff wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Several militia guns swung their direction, the closest one emitting an audible click as it was cocked.
"Chet! Help me hold him for God's sake." Biff was larger than Joe, but it took both of them to subdue the younger Hardy's struggle to reach Frank.
Forcibly held apart, blue eyes interlocked with brown ones, conveying a bond the dropping of a burlap hood would never break.
#####
#####
to be continued...