Chapter 3

The ambulance arrived so quickly at the hospital that it made Fenton's head spin. The siren near drowned out any reasonable conversation other than shouted assurances and nods. Before he knew it, Joe's gurney, along with wires, equipment and bags was off the back of the ambulance and crashing through the front doors with the waiting hospital staff crowding around and two uniformed officers close behind. It was ordered bedlam with no room for Fenton who was left bringing up the rear.

By the time he got through the doors, the trolley had already gone and the foyer was eerily silent after the previous turmoil. A receptionist saw him looking lost and came out from behind a desk to offer him a seat in the family waiting room. She gave her assurance that someone would be out to speak to him as soon as Joe's initial condition was ascertained, but returned five minutes later to ask Fenton to fill out a form and then left him again.

He hovered about for a while staring out of the only window in the room across a dimly lit car lot before perching on the edge of the seat, his nerves still in tatters.

Shortly, the door opened and Con Riley stuck his head in before entering. "Fenton?" he said by way of a greeting and looked expectantly at him.

"I haven't heard anything yet, heck, haven't even spoken to a doctor." he answered Con's unverbalized question, "It's all a bit…you know?" he made rocking motion with his hand.

"I'm with you." Con agreed. He slightly lifted a bag he was carrying. "I really hate to ask you to do this, Fenton, but I need your clothes and Frank's jacket to send to the lab. The sooner I can get them off you, the better. I got a change of clothes out of your trunk, I remembered you always carry an overnight bag."

"That's okay, I understand. I could do with at least washing my hands anyway." He took the offered bag from his friend and shouldered his way into the restroom, emerging a while later looking fresher, if a little crumpled. He passed the bag back. "I put the clothes in there."

Con opened the door and handed it to another officer who was waiting outside.

"You know, Con, you don't have to hang about here…" he started to say, but Con interrupted him with a shake of the head.

"I don't need to be anywhere, I'm off the clock now so I can stay here with you, at least until Frank gets here. I had a quick scan of the parking lot when I arrived, but I couldn't see his car. Has he not turned up yet?"

"I've been watching out for him too," he tipped his thumb towards the window, "but I haven't seen him either."

A prolonged hush fell, with them both sitting and looking at the floor. Finally, Fenton jumped up and began pacing. "What's keeping them?" he wondered out loud. "Fill in the wait with something, Con, I can't stand the silence."

Con raised an eyebrow, "What's up with Frank and Joe? What's the story?"

Fenton shrugged. "All I've been able to ascertain is that they were both out on surveillance, shadowing a suspect in a fraud case and were sitting outside his residence. The case they're working on is standard stuff, you know, money going missing from a business? The owner asked me to uncover where the cash had gone and I asked my boys to look into it. Certainly not the type of affair to elicit the kind of violence that was inflicted on my son." Fenton sighed angrily before carrying on: "So, Frank – for whatever God-forsaken reason – got out of the car and left Joe on his own. Frank told me he came back an hour later and saw a mini-van pulling away, the car door was wide open and Joe was gone. The subject they'd been watching was standing in the road hollering at the vehicle about phoning the police. Apparently, Joe had been forced into the back and their suspect had witnessed the struggle and come out to intervene so he was definitely not involved. Frank went after them in his car, but lost them."

"Where had Frank gone for that hour? That seems unlike him."

"That's the biggest mystery of all, I couldn't get any explanation out of him. He phoned me from the car – panicking. He told me someone had taken Joe, but didn't offer any account for what he'd been doing. What I do know is that he was plenty scared, more scared than normal, and as you know, he's had plenty of practice in the past!"

"Had they had an argument?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, although that seems unlikely. They've argued before, but never to the point of them being unprofessional. Even when they were kids and first starting out sleuthing when they were 15 or 16, that wouldn't have factored in. They're 22 and 23 years old now and more dedicated than ever. And in any case, why keep that a secret?"

"So, Frank left Joe for an hour? That's out of character. Not so much for Joe maybe as he's more, shall we say, impulsive and hot-headed, shoots-from-the-hip? But not Frank, he's patient, disciplined and level-headed."

Fenton nodded thoughtfully. "Too self-possessed at times, he could do with showing more spontaneity and trusting his own instincts as Joe does. But then you could say the same about Joe. The stuff Joe has become involved in because of his impulsiveness beggars belief. They have the ideal team dynamic, that's for sure. But neither of them has ever been clandestine with the other…or me."

Fenton opened the door and started watching the corridor. He was considering what they'd been discussing. Eventually, he looked across at his friend. "I wonder if there's an outside influence at play here?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know, just a gut feeling I guess. Joe said something strange; he said: they'll be back, back for me and Frank – definitely Frank. He said that he'd been sloppy and they were good" but he didn't have a clue as to who these people were, or what they wanted. He said they were asking him questions, but he didn't know the answers."

"What did he mean – what sort of questions? About what?"

"I didn't get the chance to ask, but it worried me enough to arm myself for our protection, and as you know, the gun is a last resort for me," Fenton said, and Con instantly nodded in agreement. "When Frank turned up, I even turned it on him." He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if the gun had gone off in his hand. "I've never known Frank to be so closed off and guarded. It wouldn't surprise me if he's investigating something that we don't know about."

Con was unconvinced. "Without Joe?" he snorted.

"Does seem improbable," agreed Fenton, grinning at Con's incredulousness.

A man appeared in the doorway wearing green scrubs. "Mr Hardy?" he asked, looking from Fenton to Con.

"I'm Mr Hardy, Fenton Hardy – what news?" he asked quickly. Con arose and joined them, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We're readying Joe for surgery. We had to get some fluids into him before we could progress any further; he'd lost a lot of blood. The bullet appears to have hit the left kidney and then travelled out the other side. We certainly can't find any evidence of a bullet embedded anywhere in the x-ray, and there's an opening where it looks to have exited. We're not sure if we can save the kidney, but we'll have a good look at it. He's not out of the woods by any means because you never know what you'll find when you open up someone with a bullet wound. But it looks good at the moment and could have been a lot worse."

"Will he be okay if he has to have the kidney removed? Will it impinge him?"

"No, he'll have a perfectly normal life. He seems to be a healthy young man, so I can't imagine he'd have any problems with just the one."

Fenton turned to Con, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Any more questions?"

"Can I see him before he goes down?"

"Of course – follow me. Can you turn off your cell phones, we ask that they are not switched on, in and around the ICU."

Fenton and Con followed the surgeon down the corridor and through a set of double doors to an area lined with curtained cubicles. Past these, they reached a spot filled with glassed-off rooms. The first one had its blinds drawn down and closed, and there was a uniformed officer on guard outside. The doctor pushed the door open and gestured for Fenton to enter. Con hung back outside and drew the guard into a conversation.

Joe was under a sheet and blanket with various tubes and wires coming from him and the ubiquitous mask over his face. He didn't appear to be conscious so Fenton quietly drew a chair up next to him, sat down and took his hand. He was taken aback when Joe opened his eyes, looked across and smiled.

"Hi, Buddy, how you doing?" Fenton asked, genuinely surprised at his son's resilience.

Joe raised his other hand and lifted the mask away slightly so he could speak. "Okay, sore though. They said I've got to have an operation." His voice was very small.

"I know son, they told me, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Dad, where's Frank?"

"They said only one of us could come in because they want to get you fixed quickly, so Frank stayed behind," he lied, "but he sends his love."

Joe nodded slightly. "Just you make sure to keep him close, they wanted him more than me, capturing me was just convenient to them." He let the mask fall back into place. "Tell Vanessa for me, would you?" He seemed to be growing weaker with the effort of speaking.

"I'll tell her. I'm going to go now," Fenton said, "But I'll be here when you wake up and we can talk more then, okay Champ?"

"Too old for Champ now!" Joe muttered from under the plastic and closed his eyes.

Fenton chuckled and kissed his son on the forehead, his eyes glistening. "You'll never be too old to be my Champ," he whispered. "I'll see you later, kiddo." He gave his son's head a stroke, gave his hand one more squeeze and left him in the trusted hands of the surgeon.