Chapter 9

Fenton pulled up in front of the building in which he rented office space for him and his sons for their private investigation agency called Hardy & Sons. The compactness of the two offices gave a false impression to anyone on the outside that the agency was a small, struggling business, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was actually financially doing very well – able to sustain itself through a steady flow of business due mostly to the reputation of the Hardys themselves, and through promotional work. Fenton had seen a sharp upturn in clients since Sam had retired and Frank and Joe had joined him.

Joe especially turned out to be adept at getting work in and would often spend considerable amounts of time pushing the company's profile in the market place. He'd already been headhunted by a rival agency that recognised how useful he would be, not only out in the field, but also for promotional activities. Joe, however, wasn't interested in working for anyone other than with Frank and his father.

Frank, on the other hand, was better with the clientele. He had a natural professionalism and easiness that clients instantly warmed to and trusted, and usually they would ask to speak to him if Fenton wasn't in the office, assuming he was his deputy. This was especially true of the female clients, who tended to view Joe as an overgrown schoolboy. They always liked him and wanted to 'mother' him, but rarely took him seriously – especially when he used his 'special smile' on the pretty ones.

On the whole, Fenton was more than happy with how things were working out and hadn't ever regretted his decision to invite them to work with him – although their constant practical joking could tire him out. Many a time Fenton would go to sit at his desk to find Joe hiding underneath waiting to grab his legs, or he'd pick up the phone and have a near argument with a client about shoddy work, only to detect the sounds of stifled laughter and realise it had been Frank all along.

The only thing he missed was having a full-time partner himself and envied Frank and Joe's easy working relationship...and sometimes he felt like a dinosaur next to them.

Fenton exited the car and entered the building into a narrow hallway and shook the fresh snow from his jacket. He opened up their mailbox and took out the two-day's worth of communications and then flicked through them as he walked on until the end of the passageway and then turned back on himself to climb the stairs to the second floor. He approached the office, pulling his key out at the same time and deftly unlocked the door.

He entered and plonked the mail down on Joe's desk, then thought better of it and took it to Frank's desk instead – at least he could see the wood. Joe's desk was such a state it was always amazing to both him and Frank that Joe could find anything! He feared the day when one of Joe's forgotten half-eaten sandwiches would evolve into its own life-entity and attack them all!

It was a surprise to all when Joe acquired the houseboat. Everyone with no exception pulled his leg about the small amount of living space he would have and how it would end up sinking under all the junk he would be trying to live with, but he'd proven them all wrong by being fastidiously tidy. He loved that boat; the life-style suited him very well indeed.

Fenton next went to the answering machine and flicked through all the recordings, hoping one would be from Frank. They were all either from cold-callers, or from clients either wanting to book appointments, or wanting updates on work. "They will have to wait," Fenton decided.

He went through to his own office and approached the safe. Fishing the large brass key out of his pocket, he quickly opened it and pulled out the little tin box that held their passports. He flicked the lid up and was quick to ascertain that Frank's was still amongst them.

Satisfied now that his eldest could not have skipped the country, he put the passports back into the box and returned it to the safe – and then had second thoughts and retrieved Frank's again and pocketed it to prevent him from coming back for it later.

Fenton glanced at his watch and felt instantly guilty that he'd left Vanessa waiting for far longer than he'd intended to. He pulled on the safe door to ensure it was shut tight and left.

He walked down the stairs, patting his top pocket to assure himself that the passport was still there and then jogged down the passageway and pushed through the outside entrance.

Immediately and simultaneously, he sensed something tug at the upper arm of his jacket, felt a burning sensation, and heard a thudding noise. Looking at the doorframe, he saw a hole in the woodwork just above the call buttons. Then he became acutely aware of a warm sensation of something running down his arm and put his hand to his jacket where he'd felt the pull – his fingers came away sticky. Frowning in confusion, he looked at his palm and saw that there was blood. Finally, he knew what that thudding noise and hole meant…someone had taken a shot at him, and he'd been hit!

He looked up in the direction of where he thought the bullet had come from – the building opposite – but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. And then there was another thudding noise just by his ear making him duck.

The next bullet just missed his foot, so he reached up, pulled on the door handle and dived into the hallway, a slug ricocheting off the metal door fittings where his hand had been milliseconds earlier.

Picking himself up, he began moving quickly down the corridor. He was a quarter way along when the front window imploded, showering him with glass and causing him to fall forward. "This is not funny – I'm getting too old for this!" He scrambled up and sprinted madly for the end of the corridor towards the rear door. Trying to stop, he ended up sliding along out of control across the polished floor into the back door and cracking his knee.

He steadied himself again and pulled down on the rear door handle to get out – but it was locked and didn't yield to his tug. Aggravated, he pounded his hand against it, looked up and nearly laughed out loud when he remembered that it opened outwards. Pushing, he was finally able to exit the building. He turned left and pounded along the alleyway at the rear of the neighbouring buildings for a good quarter mile until he was sure he could no longer be fired upon.

Finding a recess in a wall, he pushed himself into it and crouched down to hide. Luckily the snow hadn't yet started to cover the ground, so he left very few tracks that anyone could follow. Fenton finally started feeling pain in his shoulder and upper arm area. He unzipped his jacket and opened up the two top buttons of his shirt, gritting his teeth as he peeled back the fabric. There was a lot of blood, but he was pretty sure it was just a deep gash, rather than an entry and exit wound. "I am action-dad!" he decided, retrieving his cell phone to speed-dial Con's number. It was answered quickly.

"Fenton?" Con asked.

"Yep, it's me. Can you come and pick me up, I've had a bit of an accident."

A pause: "What sort of accident?"

"Oh…nothing serious. I just got a bit shot is all!"

A longer pause: "You have a talent for understatement, has anyone ever told you that? Do you need an ambulance?

"No, it's not that bad."

"Where are you, buddy?"

Fenton gave his location and Con rang off.

Five minutes later there came the sound of sirens and Con's tall, broad frame emerged from an alleyway in between two buildings further down from where Fenton had settled himself. He yelled Fenton's name and finally saw his friend's hand waving and jogged towards him.

Fenton was already on his feet by the time Con reached him.

"Whoa! Should you be getting up?" Con asked reaching out to steady him.

"Yes, I told you, I just got a bit shot, nothing like Joe. Mind you, it's stinging like hell now!"

Con took a peek under Fenton's clothes and grimaced. "Looks sore!"

"You should feel it from this side."

"What happened?"

"Someone was taking pot-shots at me from the building across the street from our office block as I left," Fenton explained. "At least I think that's where the shots were coming from as I couldn't see anyone. It's a good chance it was the same guy as before because a silencer was used again."

"Why are you being targeted now?"

Fenton went to shrug, and then thought better of it. "I don't know that I am – maybe they thought I was Frank, we look quite similar from a distance. Whatever the reason, all roads seem to lead to him," he surmised, kneading his shoulder. "I wish he was here so we could ask him some questions. What on earth has he become involved in?"

Con nodded his agreement. "I'll have some of my officers check both buildings out," he promised. "If they can find one of the slugs, I'll have ballistics analyse and match it against the one we got from Frank's apartment building. That'll at least confirm they were fired from the same gun. In the meantime, I'll drive you back to the hospital and have them take a look at that arm."

"Tell your boys to check the door surround, the one that skimmed my shoulder went into the wood," Fenton advised. "What about my car? It's parked up outside my building still."

"I'll have one of my guys drive it back for you when they've finished."

Nancy was quick to return and reversed up the alleyway. Frank still felt nervous – hoping that she had been correct in that she wasn't followed. He'd noticed the police sirens further into town, but it didn't even cross his mind that it was involving his own father.

All seemed well as Nancy unlocked the doors and indicated for him to climb into the back.

"Get under the blanket," she instructed.

He lay down on the floor and pulled the travelling rug over himself. Nancy leaned over the front seat and made sure that he was pretty much covered. "Stay down until I tell you otherwise," she ordered.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Out of Bayport. But first I'm making a quick visit to another store, just to make sure it looks like I'm just shopping."

She drove around until she found another parking space and then left the car. A short while later she was back. "Bought myself a novel!" she announced. "Because I'm sure I'll have loads of time to read one." She threw it onto the back seat. "Here we go."

Half an hour later and they were travelling along a straight road. Nancy didn't mention anyone suspicious on their tail, so Frank assumed they'd made a clean getaway. Given that it was also now snowing heavily, making it even more inconceivable that they could possibly be being tailed, she finally said, "Coast's clear, you might as well come and sit up front."

He arose and manoeuvred himself between the seats until he was next to her. He caught her eye in the mirror before looking out of the rear window.

Nancy glanced across and chewed her bottom lip before speaking. "Me going to see Fenton and Joe wasn't designed to make me feel good was it?" Frank froze. "I felt like a real heel not being able to say at least something tangible that would make either of them feel better. Your Dad is really worried you know, you should have at least phoned him and let him know you're okay."

"I apologise. My intention wasn't to make you feel bad," Frank said with not a small amount of regret. "Do I take it from what you've just said that Joe is okay?"

"No he's not! He got shot, Frank. And as far as he knows, he's long-time business partner has decided that their affiliation is now over – it's not the sort of thing you just shrug off!" Her friend's attention was now fully on her, his pallor grey. She paused again, seemingly not wanting to impart the next piece of news and feeling guilty for hurting him.

"It's okay, you can tell me." Frank prompted.

"Those men," she said, slowly, "They tortured Joe with a stun baton."

"A what?"

"A cattle prod. They made him suffer and tormented him to try and force him into giving them information. When it was obvious he knew nothing useful, they were going to take him with them and start removing his fingers until you cooperated. Joe is terrified they've got you. You need to let him and Fenton know that you're at least still alive!"

Frank looked down at his fingernails, the muscles of his jaw twitching.

"Joe only escaped with Lady Luck on his side and because he's so tough."

There was a short pause that gave Frank the opportunity to mentally process what she had imparted to him before she continued:

"Why did you do it, Frank? Why all the secrecy?" She reached across and nudged him. "What's going on in your head…Where's the Frank I know, what have you done with him?"

Frank shook his head silently. "As I keep on saying, it's not that simple! I didn't plan for any of this to happen – quite the opposite. I thought that by not letting Joe in, he would be protected. In actual fact, I was assured he was protected, but that turned out to be a croc when push came to shove!"

"Protected by who?"

"The Network."

Nancy's mouth dropped open in shock. "Mr Gray?"

"The one and only."

"Oh Frank! I chucked the towel in on him a long time ago. I thought you guys had as well. The Network as a secret organisation just isn't worth the risk. I should have guessed. Only they could possibly involve you in something this hazardous."

Frank grimaced. "Wasn't the greatest decision I've ever made," he conceded.

"National security again was it?"

"Big time."

"Gray really knows how to pull your strings, doesn't he?"

They travelled in silence for a short while until they started approaching a building, only visible through the heavy snow shower by the lights that were shining forth from the front porch. As they drew closer, the name 'Oaklands Hotel' was visible on a hand painted sign above the door.

"Here we are," Nancy announced, pulling up in front.

Frank grabbed her arm to prevent her from exiting the car. "Is this place really safe? It'll be too easy to track us down to a hotel, no matter how out of the way it is."

"Yes, don't worry. Mrs Holliday runs it. Dad once helped her out with some free legal advice and kept some financiers off her back. She owes us a debt of gratitude and is only too happy to cash it in by putting us up for a few days – and no one need know. She's very discrete, and a bit of a fan!"

They both alighted and Nancy pressed the doorbell while Frank retrieved Nancy's bag and his rucksack. The door was opened by a friendly looking woman who beckoned them to quickly enter into the lounge area. "Filthy weather, my dears!" she exclaimed excitedly with an English accent.

"Hi Mrs Holliday, how are you?" Nancy asked. "This is my friend, Frank."

"Yes, I recognised him as soon as I saw him."

Frank was a little startled.

Mrs Holliday explained. "I follow the news, especially about the great detective Nancy Drew. I've seen several pictures of you and your brother over the years." She went to a tall bookcase and pulled an album from the top shelf. "Look here," She said, opened it and showed them both a series of newspaper clippings, including several pictures."

"Oh, wow, so I see." Frank said, looking sideways a Nancy who was smiling cheerfully at Mrs Holliday.

"You're very welcome, young man, very welcome. Sit down, sit down, and I'll get you both a hot drink. I've just put the kettle on." And with that, Mrs Holliday bustled off down the corridor towards, Frank assumed, the kitchen.

"Thanks," smiled Nancy after her. She removed her coat; shook the snow off and then helped Frank off with his. "Where on earth did you get this jacket from?" she asked, and then smirked, "Its Joseph's, isn't it?"

One side of Frank's mouth lifted.

"Thought so, fits you like a tent."

"You're not endearing yourself to me," Frank muttered and slumped down into one of the easy chairs by the fire. "I don't get this kind of grief from Joe."

"That I doubt. I'm just going to give Mrs Holliday a hand."