CHAPTER 22
"Hello?"
"Mr. Hardy? It's Biff." The youth paused, uncertain where to begin and oblivious to what the delay would imply for the detective. The last thirty-six hours had been an exhausting whirlwind, all culminating in achieving this phone call. He hadn't planned much past that.
"Biff? Are you with Joe?"
"No sir, Joe sent me to find you. Or call you, I guess. He's-"
Fenton interrupted him, his thoughts uncharacteristically requiring small blocks of concrete information, preferably in monosyllabic words. "He sent you. Joe's alive?"
"What?!" Biff was caught flat footed by the question, having spent the last several days refusing to consider how close they were skirting that line. "Of course he is. He stayed with Frank."
"Frank…" A torrent of relief, joy, and anxiety swirled together and threatened to overwhelm him. "You found Frank. Thank God."
Biff had long ago become accustomed to his friends' father and his ability to tease the relevant information out of any conversation, a few well placed inquiries drilling to the heart of the matter. He supposed he'd expected the same phenomenon now; that once he contacted Mr. Hardy the situation would instantly be laid bare. The prolonged gap in conversation and what sounded suspiciously like a choked off sniffle was unnerving.
"Mr. Hardy? You ok?"
"Yes. I, ahh, I thought Frank was dead, maybe even Joe. I…" Fenton slammed the doubts in his head firmly closed, returning to the present with a forcible wrenching of thought. "I'm fine. Where are they? Are they hurt? How long since you saw them?"
Still not exactly the Fenton Hardy he was accustomed to, but a whole continent closer. "They're in a village in the mountains, I left there about a day and half ago, and Joe's okay. Frank's hurt and Joe sent me for help." Biff scratched a hand through his grimy hair, wondering how to prompt Fenton into asking the right questions. Twice he started to explain the state Frank was in, and twice his tongue refused to leave its haven on the roof of his mouth.
Fenton waited the silence out, allowing the cadence of his heartbeat to slow while Biff collected his thoughts. His sons were alive. That seeped into his soul and restarted his mind. "Frank's hurt. Badly?"
"He, uh, I think… the soldiers beat him with something and… his arm, um, Reza had to open it because it was swelling and it's broken and he's coughing and he won't really wake up and maybe his ribs are cracked or something and he has a fever and-"
"Biff. Stop." The voice in Fenton's head screeched in denial and questions - Who's Reza? What in heaven's name do you mean opened it up? Why won't he wake? Who had the gall to beat my son? – but the tinge of hysteria in Hooper's rushed delivery warned him there wasn't time for any of that. A single question would serve to cut through all of that and determine his course of action. "Was Joe scared?"
"Mr. Hardy? Joe's been a rock, he's the one that really found Frank, he just seemed to know where to look for him at the gallows and he got us through the jungle, found the food, kept them from shooting Frank, and"
Gallows? Shooting him? What the hell happened to my children? "Biff, this isn't about me doubting Joe's capabilities or you embarrassing your friend in front of his father. It's precisely because I do trust Joe's assessment of the situation that I'm asking you. Is Joe afraid for his brother?" Say no, Joe always has a sense for when Frank's in real trouble. He's fine if you'll simply say no.
"Yes sir."
Not the answer I wanted, Alan Hooper… "Okay then." Fenton heaved the air out of his chest, lurching to sit on the edge of the bed. "I can make a call or two and come after them. Where are you?"
Biff allowed his water blue eyes to roam over the gilded ceiling and carved marble columns. "A theater in the capitol, I think. A soldier patrol found us last night and hauled us here. Scared the bejeebers out of me to get picked up, actually, but turns out they were on our side. Anyhow, somebody approached me pretty quickly after we got here; thought I might be Joe."
"Us? You mean Chet?"
"Uh, no. Topan. Chet had to; uh …I don't know where Chet is."
"Topan." Another name Fenton couldn't place. "Obviously there's a lot more to this story and we'll sort it out later. You can fill me in on Chet when I see you."
"But Topan's going back to the village and Joe needs me there. I only left to find help for Frank."
"Which you did. I admire your willingness to go back there alone, Biff, but I have a responsibility to your parents to keep you safe and I haven't done a stellar job so far on this trip. Stay where you are and someone will pick you up."
Somehow his resistance deflated with the mention of his parents. "I'll be here."
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"Nicolas, welcome. A pleasure to make your acquaintance in person. I trust your flight was unimpeded?" Clipboard offered a hand to the shorter American, then gestured to a canvas seat. "Forgive the casual décor."
Shuman surveyed the inside of a large tent, a coarse woven mat marking the central square and hosting a folding table and six chairs. Olive netting flapped slightly at the entrance while water droplets wandered down the seams.
"I had heard you had a preference for the finer things, Colonel, and my flight was fine, thank you; my first water landing. How far are we from Ranei?"
"Not far. Lovely thing about the Indonesians, they do not choose to occupy all of their islands. Quite hospitable to displaced revolutionaries, as long as they remain unaware of our occupation as well." Clipboard sat opposite his guest, pouring them both a glass of water. "Although I hope Cil did not bring you here to inquire as to my taste in furnishings or knowledge of local geography?"
"No sir." Nicolas folded his arms on the edge of the table, tapping his fingers in an erratic rhythm. "My ability to function in my prior employment was compromised and Cil thought you might offer me a permanent position here in return for information."
"A convoluted way of saying you destroyed your cover, yes?"
Nicolas fidgeted beneath the direct stare. "Yes."
Clipboard raised an eyebrow, enjoying the other man's discomfort. "What sort of information might you have?"
"Cil thought-"
"If I want to know what Cil thinks, I shall ask him. What do you think?"
"I can tell you about the Hardys." Nicolas was losing confidence in his ability to impress the militia leader.
"Very well, proceed."
"Laura is at the American embassy in Jakarta, Fenton was in a hospital there but has been moved to a local hotel to recuperate from a gunshot wound to the calf, Frank is reportedly dead, and Joe remains missing in the rainforest somewhere."
"Hmm." Clipboard tapped his pen against the sheaf of papers on the table. "I am well aware of Mrs. Hardy's location as Rao put her on a plane to travel there at my request, and I personally signed the order to hang Frank Hardy, so his death is more than reported. I am disappointed to learn Fenton has left Ranei, however. I was starting to enjoy our little chats. An accurate summary on our favorite vacationers, but I fear I was hoping for more insight on what the American reaction to the situation on Ranei as a whole might be."
"I see. I assumed the personal information was what would be of immediate concern, but I've worked for Elias Dahl for a long time. I certainly can help you with a broader perspective."
"You think like an American. My interest in the Hardys only goes so far as it pertains to Ranei, not as a personal vendetta. Another, ah, American guest here seems convinced that the Hardys had no foreknowledge of the coup and would be happy to return home. Unfortunately, I cannot risk Fenton or Joseph exposing the names of militia members who remain embedded in the Moluki government. I trust you could be of assistance there?"
"Assistance? You're saying you want them dead?"
"Does that present a problem?" Clipboard stood to pace the small space between the table and canvas walls.
"I don't usually directly handle that, but I..."
"I believe the expression is 'we are beating around the bush,' is it not? You are a Network agent?"
Nicolas spluttered a mouthful of water down his shirt. "You know that!?"
"I know a good many things, Mr. Shuman. Your utility to me is to advise me on intelligence activities and agents that may affect Ranei, bring me Elias Dahl, whether as co-conspirator or corpse I care not, and to eliminate the Hardy threat, not necessarily in that order." Clipboard now stood behind Nicolas's chair, one hand on each of the man's shoulders. "Do we have an agreement?"
"And the alternative would be?" Nicolas knew the answer to that, but needed to confirm his situation.
Clipboard's gun was against his throat before he finished the question. "I suspect you can surmise that on your own, yes?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"Excellent." Clipboard handed him a blank sheet of paper and pen. "Let us start with a list of names of agents or their contacts that might impact the Ranei situation."
"What makes you think the Western intelligence community cares what happens in Ranei?"
"Deflection will not serve you well, Nicolas; I am an impatient man. Officially, I am quite certain the western governments will have no position on what happens. Unofficially, the busybodies never keep to themselves, protecting allies that offer no plausible advantage to their own states simply to impose modern beliefs on those who do not want them. Now write."
Clipboard unzipped the mesh to exit the tent, motioning a younger soldier to guard the door. "Oh, a final question, pure curiosity if you will. When I read this list, am I going to find the name Hardy written there?"
"Yes."
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"You wanted to hear from me, so here I am, Elias. Don't push your luck." Fenton gripped the receiver tighter, nearly fusing his hand into the plastic.
"You called me, Hardy, I'm not pushing anything. I just don't like the delay."
"In case your keen observational skills missed it when you were here earlier, I'm not in any shape to do field work for a few weeks even if I wanted to, which I don't. I'll look at paperwork between now and then, but until I get my wife and sons to Bayport, that's all I'll do. Are we agreed?"
Elias Dahl frowned at the phone in his hand, glad the detective couldn't see the gesture. "What if this whole business is resolved by then?"
"Then you don't need me anyway. I'm sure you'll find some other inopportune time to collect your favor. Look, Frank may not have a lot of time. If I need to go over your head, say so now." Fenton had several other avenues to pursue, but Dahl was the closest and probably the fastest.
"No need for that, we're agreed. Laura will be in your room within the half-hour and I'll have the Hooper kid there shortly thereafter." Elias shrugged. A few milk runs for his pilots were a small concession to get Fenton to toe the line.
"The helicopter for Frank and Joe?"
"Already in the air, Fenton. Our contact in the capitol will get the information from Biff Hooper and this Topan person en route."
'Our contact.' Perfect, I'm actually part of this now. Laura's gonna skin me.
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Ten hours later his hide was still primarily intact, as Laura perched on the edge of the hotel bed , one hand wrapped tightly in Fenton's, her head on his chest. Biff sprawled in one of the damask armchairs, elbows and knees protruding in more directions than seemed anatomically possible.
The initial helicopter flight had located the village based on Topan's information three hours after Fenton and Dahl had spoken; only to discover a ring of burned out structures. Laura hadn't spoken a word since, only the fluctuating strength of her grip giving any indication that she heard the updated reports as they came in.
No bodies had been found among the charred remains of the huts, and the trampled immediate area clearly indicated that the population had escaped. Unfortunately the trail disappeared a few hundred yards away into a stream, and no one had located it as of yet. Fenton tried to see that in a positive light. If the villagers had been captured, there would have been no reason to hide their passage. Logical enough, but not at all helpful in locating his boys.
Fenton ached to fly back to the island immediately and search for his sons, but Laura's devastated face when he mentioned the idea stopped the notion. Her sons were lost in a place doubling as one of Dante's circles, one of them desperately ill, and Fenton was her anchor to sanity. She couldn't bear him returning there, not injured and vulnerable himself.
The middle of the night brought a crackle of static, the relayed message jarring Fenton back to alertness. The lack of circulation in his grasped fingers suggested Laura had never slept.
"There are some tracks and disturbed branches around a series of shallow caves west of the village. The searchers found a dead native girl in the vicinity, but some of the prints are too large to be hers. The team's moving in now; it may take a little time to check all the caves."
Laura sat up as the minutes passed, her free hand resting on the radio, the crackle of the open line somehow a touchstone. "They're there, Fenton, I'm certain." The statement was whispered, conviction lacing the soft words.
Another half hour passed before the radio voice from the capitol pierced the room again. "Shots fired at the upper cave site. Shots fired…"
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to be continued...