CHAPTER 6

"Sit."

The command was scarcely needed, as a substantial shove landed Fenton on the edge of the hearth in his room. His cuffed hands did little to catch him before hip bones collided with the chiseled stone, but the detective doubted a few bruises were going to be important by the time the day was over. The random gunfire and yelling audible from the hall tended to confirm that. At least his head hadn't impacted the masonry behind him.

Fenton glanced backward, getting some satisfaction at the amount of hopelessly charred paper on the grate. Anything the rebels couldn't read, they'd have to ask him about. And that just might buy the rest of his family some time. Before his thoughts got any farther, the teak door opened again, depositing Clipboard and Rao in the room.

"Mr. Hardy. Enjoying the return to your room, I trust?" Clipboard peered at his captive, relishing the moment.

"Not especially." Fenton was beginning to find the other man's constant tendency to end every sentence as a question infuriating. It wasn't as if he wanted an answer.

"I must say, what little remains legible has been most enlightening." Clipboard dropped the sheaf of scorched documents on the table. "Fortunately, I cleared Rao's schedule for the remainder of the day, which should give him adequate time to persuade you to fill in the gaps. I only regret being unable to stay myself."

Clipboard stepped closer to the fireplace, pausing to widen his stance before belting his fist across Fenton's jaw. It took the fourth blow before the seated man fell, generating a louder grunt as he landed. "I begin to see the appeal of that boxing now. Quite exhilarating. Before I go, though, any other paperwork in here I should be aware of?"

Fenton struggled to sit up, refocusing his rapidly swelling eyes while he thought about it. Nothing worth getting hit again, anyway… "Not really. There are only airline tickets and my wallet."

"Where are they?"

"They're in the pocket of the sport coat I had on this morning. It's hanging on the back of the chair."

Clipboard considered the matter, and then turned to his men. Rao stood apart from the three of them, gun leveled at Fenton's head. "Cil, if you would be so kind as to return those handcuffs to me. I might need them." He accepted the cuffs and returned his attention to the elder Hardy, watching him rub the circulation back into his hands. "Before I go and see your sons off, though, empty that jacket onto the table for me."

Fenton picked up the linen jacket, debating asking a question of his own. There probably wasn't that much to lose. "See my sons off to where, exactly?"

Clipboard threw back his head, the ringing laugh at odds with his formal demeanor. "I wondered when you would ask. I contemplated keeping young Joseph with us, but I'm actually going to send him home as originally planned." Clipboard watched the detective. "I think I have surprised you. Good. I have my reasons."

"What about Frank?" Fenton began to pull smaller items out of his pockets, dropping change and ticket stubs onto the table.

An orange half-ticket caught Clipboard's attention. "Ah, the carriage tour. It is a quaint way to see the island's past, I suppose. Tell me, Mr. Hardy, did you leave the carriage to tour the old fort? The dungeons there have been idle far too long. Or perhaps the ones outside the city would be better suited – either way, they should make charming temporary housing for your son, yes?"

Fenton blanched, remembering the dank archaic cells far too clearly. "Temporary?"

"Of course, temporary, Mr. Hardy. Sham trials are tiresomely predictable obligations, but I hardly see a way around it for those of you linked to the former government. Alas, I shall have to console myself with the executions at the end…"

Executions. Fenton could accept dying here if he had to, but not for Frank. Not when he'd brought his sons here as a reward for hard work, failing to see the danger. Not when it was his fault. His hands methodically freed the wallet from his pocket, letting the mechanical action hide his thoughts. The brown leather fell open to the center.

Fenton fought to still the tremble in his hands as he looked at the photograph from a few short months before. Frank beamed at him from the photo, proudly displaying the watch he'd received for his eighteenth birthday. Sensing the impatience of the gunman behind him, he set the wallet down on the rattan and finished emptying his jacket.

Normally able to recall any detail at a moment's notice, he had to think twice to come up with the date of birth that Chet Morton had given him less than two hours ago. Not that the date mattered. It wasn't yet and that's all the detective had needed to know. That random thought left him as another volley of gunfire sounded from the hall. He'd been able to save the boys from staying in this hell - all but Frank. The litany circled mercilessly in his head as he heard a stranger's muffled scream. Frank was of age. Frank was a man. Frank was going to their prison. In all probability, Frank was going to die…

#####

#####

Joe pushed Biff's hands away from his shoulders, slumping backward to sit on the floor. His friends let him go, realizing he was no longer trying to charge toward Frank.

Biff studied Joe's swollen face, wondering whether he wasn't going after Frank, or whether he couldn't. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Joe's voice was muffled, altered by his ever increasing nose. He noted the form supporting his back was his mother. "I'm okay."

Chet raised a brow as Joe shifted, ready to grab him again if need be.

"Joe, honey," Laura obviously had thoughts along similar lines.

"No, really, Mom, I'm fine. I'm not going to do anything else that's stupid." Joe surveyed the lobby again, noting all the militants they'd interacted with personally were gone.

"We didn't say it was stupid, Joe." Biff sat in front of the younger Hardy.

"Hmmph. I appreciate that, but I lost my temper. We can't afford that right now. Not if we're going to help Frank or Dad."

Chet cleared his throat, tipping his chin at the two dozen guards still in evidence. "What do we do next?"

"Get away."

"Get away? It's a little light on details for a plan, Joe."

"Kinda already knew that." Joe managed half a grin for Chet. "Look, until we get out of this room, there's nothing we can do. They're planning on moving us anyway, so we have to go with that for now. They'll be more opportunities to escape once we're out of the building. Clipboard thinks Dad has information, so our first priority should be Frank."

"Joe?" Laura willed the shakiness out of her voice. "I'm afraid for Frank and Fenton too, but escaping means you not getting off this island. I need at least one of you safe."

"I can't hop on a plane home and not even try. Dad or Frank would never just leave me here." Joe paused, trying to find the right words to convince her. "I know everyone is used to Dad, or Frank, being the one to come up with a plan. Maybe I'm used to that too… But Mom, I can do this."

Laura took another look at her baby. No, she corrected, at her nearly grown son. Somewhere in the middle of his few sentences, the speech she'd planned about coming home safely and letting Fenton handle this evaporated. "You're not a little boy anymore, are you?"

"Mom?"

"I'm sorry, Joe. Sometimes I forget how capable you and Frank have become. If you see a way to get out of this, I…" Laura paused to take one of his hands in both of hers, "I trust you to do that."

She blinked a few times, not fooling any of them, determined to refocus the conversation and avoid further acknowledgement that her son had grown into a very dangerous adulthood. She'd known it was coming; of course, both her sons were unmistakably Fenton's in every sense. She'd even started to accept it these past few years with Frank, clinging to an illusion of Joe as her baby. "So, I believe we're back to Chet's question. What's next?"

Joe squared eyes with a pair so very much like his own and saw something different there. Or not different, exactly. The faith she had for Fenton when things went wrong, an unshakeable belief their family would survive, shone there, directed squarely at him for the first time. He'd seen love for him in her eyes as long as he could remember pride that he was a good kid, but this was reliance. I wanted her to trust me, better live it up to it….or Frank and Dad might not live at all….

Biff startled as clipped gunfire filled the hallway behind them. "You said Frank first. Do you really think your Dad's alright?"

"No, no I don't." Joe squelched a very battered mental image of his father. "But as long as they're trying to get information out of him, I doubt he'll be killed. Frank's another matter."

"If they think Frank's working with your Dad, why wouldn't they try to get information out of him too?" Chet looked perplexed.

"That's possible, but I think they would have taken Frank with Dad if that was the plan. Clipboard probably thinks whatever Frank might know he can get as easily from Dad. As long as Frank is with that group, he's in the deeper trouble."

The next hour was spent in hushed tones until Joe was finally satisfied that he'd planned for as many contingencies as he could. "Everybody good with what to do?"

Three nods answered him.

#####

#####

Fenton flinched further into the chair, having long lost count of how many times Rao's fist had bashed into his side. The poker from the fireplace had made a few smacks across his back, but as soon as Clipboard had returned, that stopped. He probably figured any more of that and I'd be dead. Probably right about that.

"Rao, stop." Clipboard's voice maintained its cultured calm. "Mr. Hardy appears to be losing his focus on the conversation. I'd hate to think we are boring you, Fenton. Are we?"

Fenton levered his head off his chest, a few swimming images of Clipboard converging in the field of his remaining functional eye. He sucked in enough air through broken teeth to answer. "No."

"Excellent. I pride myself on being a gracious host. I had hoped you would prove to be more of a conversationalist, however." He shifted his attention to Rao. "Tuck our guest in for the evening, if you please."

"I have to rejoin your family, Fenton. Sleep well."

#####

#####

to be continued...