Frank was brought back to consciousness with a desperate breath of air. He coughed and choked again and again, swallowing air like he couldn't get enough.

His throat hurt, his eyes were swollen, and he could feel blood running from his nose. Every breath was simultaneously the greatest relief and the greatest pain he had ever had.

"Frank!" A kind voice was urging him. "Wake up!"

Frank pulled his eyes open, but couldn't stop coughing and wheezing. He couldn't feel his hands and feet. He saw the gray hair and wrinkle-lined eyes of Ezra Collig. A police officer.

Frank was hyperventilating. He tried to move away from Collig, but his limbs didn't seem to be working properly, and his head was buzzing.

"Hey, kid, it's okay!" Collig said gently as he pulled Frank to a sitting position. "You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Just breathe."

Collig took exaggerated slow breaths himself, using his hands to demonstrate the motion. "In and out… in and out."

Frank tried to slow his panic. He followed Collig's motion. In and out… in and out…

He could physically feel the oxygen returning to his body. He felt the needles slowly retreat from his arms and legs. The buzzing in his head lessened.

"Good. You're doing great." Collig reassured him. "In and out, that's it."

Frank lifted a shaky hand to his throat. It was swollen and could feel an indent under his chin where his belt had been pulled taut.

When he pulled his hand back, he saw blood on it.

"You put up a good fight, kid." Collig said. "'Course, for strangling victims, that usually comes with some self-inflicted scratches on their throat."

Frank's voice was eerily raspy and quiet. "You saved me?"

Collig wiped his forehead. "Not a moment too soon, I should say. I've known there were some bad eggs on the force for some time. I had no idea they'd go this far."

He looked sadly at two still forms in the cell. One was next to them, and the other was in the corner.

"Conners was my friend." He said, staring at the large form.

"Are they dead?"

Collig's mustache twitched. "No, just knocked out."

"How?" Frank asked in confusion.

Collig held up a nightstick, but seemed to sense the deeper question Frank was asking. "You fit to walk?" Collig asked.

Frank stood up shakily, still forcing himself to breathe slowly. He moved his hands and toes, which were oddly stiff, but functioning.

Collig supported him, and led him out of the cell. He closed and locked the door behind him. "A couple months ago, I started noticing some strange things going on here. Evidence disappearing, witnesses clamming up… explanations were given, and most of the officers believed them. However, last month, with the murder of Eunice Coleman, I noticed some problems with the investigation. I confronted the chief, but he brushed it off. He actually demoted me and removed me from the case."

They walked up the stairs. Frank felt better with each step away from the cell.

"I started investigating in secret," Collig continued. "When your Dad got shot, I saw how the Chief handled it. I figured it was because your dad was working on the Coleman murder too. I was going to talk to him, try to work together, but your family vanished. Your house was empty. I had no way of knowing where you had gone. I only hoped you were okay."

"He went to D.C." Frank rasped, swallowing painfully, trying to get his voice back.

Collig nodded. "That's smart."

They walked back into the main room with the desks. Frank slowed down, and shrank towards the wall.

Collig gave a satisfied smirk. "You don't have to worry about Baxter. Con?" He called.

A stocky, curly haired officer with a friendly grin opened the door of the office. Behind him, Joe could see Baxter tied to his desk chair with a gag in his mouth. He was clearly furious and struggling madly.

"Frank, this is Officer Con Riley." Collig explained. "He's the newest member of the force. He's been helping me."

Riley must have seen the doubtful look in Frank's eyes. "Don't chew worry, son." he said in a heavy southern accent. "I swore to protect Bayport, and that's what I intend to do."

He shot a dirty look at Baxter before he closed the door behind him. "Unlike some of these varmints, I gots a sense of right and wrong."

It was hard not to smile in the presence of such a man. "But how did you know what they were up to?" Frank choked.

Riley got him a glass of water. Frank felt immeasurably grateful.

Collig replied, "Riley here was supposed to be on the night shift tonight. The chief dismissed him from it, and he figured something was up. So he got me, and we kept an eye out."

Riley snorted. "Collig climbed into the air vents over the chief's office when they brought you in. He hurd th'whole thang."

Collig struggled to remain stoic. "Yes, well, as soon as I was able to get out, I told Riley to secure Baxter, and I would handle the two officers taking you. It was quite easy to jump them when they were occupied with strangling you."

Riley stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm mighty glad yur okay, son. Tell the truth, you don't look so good."

Frank reached for his throat again, but this time with a smile of relief. "Thank you both. You saved my life."

Collig scowled. "That's what police officers are supposed to do. I'm just ashamed this is what the Bayport Police Department has come to."

Riley waved his hand. "We'll fix it up, sure as the sun. But we don't have time for this jibber jabber! What was you sayin' about the boat, sir?

Detective Collig snapped his fingers. "That's right. I know where your father is."

He went to one of the desks and grabbed a coat on the back of a chair.

Frank's eyes widened. "My father? Is he okay?"

Collig pulled the coat on, and then his hat. "Your father has been taken by Stokes and his men."

Frank fell back against a desk. He was exhausted and weak. "Taken?"

"Yes. One of Stokes' men was here earlier. Baxter was trying to save you, but the man threatened to expose Baxter's wrongdoings. He's in too deep, you see?"

Collig continued. "I overheard them in Baxter's office. He mentioned the last 'loose end.' He told Baxter to kill you if you wouldn't say where some folder was. What folder is this?"

Frank folded his arms, suddenly feeling a chill. "It has evidence against Stoke's organization. Arms dealing, the sale of alcohol, even evidence against Baxter."

Collig's substantial eyebrows rose into his less than substantial hairline. "Oh my. That could bring down the entire Stokes family. How did you get that?"

Frank stood. "It's a long story. But we believe it's why Eunice died. She died getting that information to light. But I was telling the truth. I really don't know exactly where it is."

Collig nodded. "That's probably the best, for now. But it's safe?"

"Absolutely," Frank replied. "But where is my Father? You said a boat?"

Collig began rifling through papers on his desk. "While the man was talking to Baxter, he mentioned pier 11 in relation to your father. 'The detective' he said. I happened to discover a few days ago that Stokes owns a yacht that's moored on pier 11. He has to be there."

He found the paper he was looking for. "Ah-ha! Here it is. The Leslie."

"We have to go get him," Frank said as he looked down at the ship's registration. "Who knows what they've been doing to him."

Collig nodded. "But we have to get reinforcements."

Frank nodded. "Can I use your phone? There's a detective at my aunt's house, and my brother can help."

"Actually, no." Collig frowned. "Something else I learned- Bayport municipal telephone company? It's owned by Leonard Stokes."

"Another Stokes?" Frank asked in astonishment. "How many relatives does this guy have?"

Collig sighed. "More than enough to make our lives difficult. I'm sure they're monitoring all calls in and out of the police station."

Frank was struck by a realization. "That must be why my Dad couldn't call the FBI. They've got this whole town under lockdown!"

Riley lifted a hand.

Collig frowned at him. "You don't need to raise your hand, Riley."

The man lowered it with a grin. "There are a couple more members of the force that are trustworthy. Lieutenant Barclay was moved to patrol work a few weeks back. That's a pretty good sign the Chief don't want him around. Mike de Salvo's a good friend of mine. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Finch, Clayton… heck, even Officer Smuff could help. He's an idjit, but he's no traitor."

Collig took a deep breath. "I suppose we'll have to widen our field at some point. Of course, the radio is no help if we don't know who to trust."

He took his gun out of its holster and checked it. "Alright, here's what we'll do. Riley, you stay here and keep an eye on Baxter and the weasels downstairs. Someone has got to make man the fort here. We can't afford to neglect the rest of the town. Hardy and I will collect everyone you suggested as fast as possible. Then we'll head to the yacht. See if we can get your Dad to safety."

Both Riley and Frank agreed on the plan. Collig led Frank to a side room. He unlocked the heavy metal door and turned on an industrial light.

Frank's eyes widened, and he struggled to hide his boyish delight. The walls were lined with guns, vests, helmets, batons, smoke bombs, and scores of defensive (and offensive) tools.

He caught eye of a line of Tommy Guns, pristine and gleaming. He reached for one, but Collig slapped his hand away.

"No way, kid. Tommys are for the officers."

Frank frowned petulantly. "Do you intend for me to help at all?"

His voice was raspy almost beyond understanding. That certainly wouldn't convince Collig to let him help.

"Of course. We'll need all the help we can get." Collig draped a belt of ammunition over his shoulder. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're a civilian. I'm not going to give you a submachine gun."

"So what do I get?"

Collig efficiently loaded Frank with a helmet, a heavy cloth vest, and a blackjack.

Frank glumly accepted the small blackjack.

"Hopefully we won't need much of this stuff." Collig said. "Maybe we'll surprise them."

Together, they loaded up on guns, ammo, smoke bombs, and safety equipment. The heavy vests were made to deter bullets, but they were not always successful, especially with high caliber arms.

They brought the equipment to a paddy wagon parked behind the station. It would carry a lot of people as well as their gear.

The night was slightly rainy and cool. Collig got behind the wheel of the wagon and Frank got into the passenger seat.

They pulled out into the night.

"Just a reminder," Collig said, "you are a civilian. You will be there as a last resort- nothing more. I need you to follow orders and don't do anything stupid."

Frank normally would have bristled at such a reminder, but his father was being held prisoner on this boat. He wouldn't risk his life for anything.

They started down the roads of Bayport. The city was going to sleep, and there weren't many cars. Collig drove like a racecar driver. Frank envied the ease with which he navigated the narrow lanes.

Frank rolled his eyes at himself. He had to learn how to drive. It was stupid that he didn't have this fundamental skill.

They went to Detective Finches house, then Officer Di Salvos. Both men were slightly irritable when called on so late in the night, but they were quick to assist when they heard about the deceptions being carried out by the Bayport Police department. The abrasions on Frank's neck also convinced them to act. The men were ready in a flash, and they accompanied Frank and Collig in the paddy wagon. They were on their way to Officer Clayton's house when they heard a gunshot. Then another.

A loud screeching sound echoed from a nearby street.

Collig immediately turned in the direction of the noise.

There was another gunshot and the honking of a horn. The policemen readied themselves.

"What's happening?" Frank asked rhetorically. Obviously, the officers didn't know either.

They rounded a corner and a dramatic scene met them. A silver car was meandering wildly down the street. Its windshield was shattered and a man was hanging on the side of the car, hanging on for dear life. An arm appeared out of the driver's window, a pistol flashing wickedly towards the man perched precariously on the running board. The pistol fired, but missed its target.

Collig steered the paddy wagon behind the silver car and started to give chase. As they ran under streetlights, Frank saw that the man clutching desperately to the side of the car was skinny, tall, and eerily familiar.

It was Joe.