Thank you for the great reviews. I'm really enjoying your insights, observations and questions. I think from the questions posed so far that I'll satisfy your reading needs. Had a question from a guest asking if Nancy would be put in danger in this story?...Read on...Read on... :-)


CHAPTER 8

Fenton and Con left the building, chose not to loiter, and strode directly to their car.

"We should get Laura first," Con said to Fenton over the roof of the car. "She's closer to Frank and Andrea's name wasn't included on the death list." He opened the door and folded into the passenger seat.

Fenton dropped in next to him. "Andrea falls into the category of 'everyone who Frank Hardy loves'. She wasn't involved in the original case, no need for them to have included her."

"James wasn't involved either." Con bent and pulled on the seat's adjuster lever so the seat slid back to maximize his leg room. "He wasn't any more involved than Ezra and the rest of the squad. He just accompanied us to Andrea's house when Nancy destroyed Pandora."

"There you have it."

"Then why isn't Andrea on the death list? I hid her in the bathtub."

"Exactly. Hiding. Not in the thick of it."

"They don't know that. They don't even know what James did in there. We rumbled with The Network, not The Posse."

Fenton paused, his seatbelt buckle in his grasp. "True," he said thoughtfully. He fastened the belt with a click. "Strange. Maybe they value James as a close friend of Frank's? No, scratch that. Chet, Biff and Tony would've been included if that's the case." He turned the engine over. "I don't have an explanation." He looked behind him, palmed the car into gear and reversed out of the space. "Seatbelt, Con."

Con complied. "Other aspects make squat sense too."

"I agree." Fenton took the car around the parking lot, and braked at the barrier. He waited until it rose and rolled the car forward. He spotted a gap in the traffic and nosed out on to Main Street. "The Pandora Posse went after Frank the first time, purely for the memory stick. They already had the code."

"Your boy and Nancy wanted to destroy Pandora and it's the only reason they went after the code," Con agreed. He stared at the outside scenery, and watched the door mirror.

"Without the memory stick, which we know Nancy crushed, they can't activate the program even with the code. So what's changed? What could they have set in place locked up in a high security facility?"

Con sat up straighter. "I'll tell you another thing that's changed."

"Mmm?"

"Frank's memory. It's eerie how he can't remember the code. Then there's his reaction when you asked for Nancy's number, as though you were the irrational one, and not him."

"More than weird," Fenton agreed, and checked out the rear view mirror.

"And since when did Frank start to refer to Drew purely by her full name? 'Nancy Drew'…cold. even if she is an ex-girlfriend. Why would a knock to a head only remove the Pandora code and alter his perception of Drew?"

"Uh-huh," Fenton agreed. His gaze hadn't left the mirror.

"You spotted them too?"

"About two minutes ago. They're not very good. The way they're weaving through traffic…they couldn't make themselves more noticeable if they tried."

"Don't you just hate amateurs?"

"You know what I hate more than amateurs?"

"What?"

"Amateurs with firearms."

"Huh?"

Fenton spun the wheel with the heel of his hand and attempted to urgently edge around a vehicle in front, but the driver, with a rude gesture, moved to block him. "Damn it!" Fenton muttered and slapped the steering wheel. They were hemmed in.

Frustratingly, no cars were now behind them for any great distance, the road empty of traffic - except for the black car with darkened windows that had followed them since they left the precinct. It gained rapidly on them, just as the traffic beside them rolled forward to leave a car length gap beside them.

Con swivelled around, and watched as the driver accelerated and began to cruise up beside their car. Then he saw what Fenton had spotted - the dropped passenger window with an arm out and a gun gripped in its hand, aimed in Fenton's direction. "Watch yourself Flash!"

"Thanks, Zarkov!" Fenton slammed the car into reverse.

Their opponent driver were left with little time to react as they sailed on by, but the gunman did attempt a quick shot, but missed.

Fenton carried on their backward trajectory to distance his car even further from their attackers. He fishtailed to make them a moving target.

The dark car skidded to a halt, and the gunman switched direction to take another pot-shot. The bullet ricocheted off the grill on Con's side.

Con and Fenton ducked. Their car continued to hurtle rearward as Fenton half blindly watched the road through the gap between their seats. He relied on the fact he'd seen no other traffic so close behind that they would hit anyone. Then another bullet hit. It smashed through the windshield and ripped a hole in Con's headrest. The next bullet hit almost simultaneously in the same spot, and the headrest detached to disappear into the rear of the car. They felt the car drop to one side and the engine stalled.

"Get into the back!" Fenton ordered, shifted into neutral and restarted the car.

Con unclipped his seat belt and pulled himself urgently and clumsily through the gap between their seats - a difficult stunt for a six feet four man, but he successfully scrambled onto the back seat. Lying down should have felt safer, if not for the bullets thudding across the back seat rest in search of him. "Fen, get this tank MOVING!" Con shouted. He heard the gears grind and the engine rev, but sensed no propulsion in any direction.

"I'm trying. Nothing's happening!" Another bullet entered the interior of the car through the windscreen. "CRAP!" Fenton screamed.

"I don't want to hear 'crap'!"

"Can't get the damn transmission out of neutral."

Con lifted to see Fenton jerk his fist, the hand gripped hard on the top of the gear shift. Con half dived through the gap and shoved Fenton's hand to one side. He used his greater strength and weight to bear down, and force the stick into first. A hole ripped through the back of the passenger seat. The slug barely missed his leg, and corkscrewed into the backseat along with the others. "WHOA!" Con jammed his hand on Fenton's knee and drove his partner's foot down on the gas. The car shot forward.

"Con, for pity's sake, what are you doing?" Fenton shouted.

"Ramming speed, Flash!"

Fenton set his jaw, moved up the gears, and drove straight for the other car. The car picked up speed as he went. The powerful engine screamed as injured metal ground against injured metal. Despite his blindness due to the tangled nature of his shattered windshield, Fenton could discern enough of the general shape of the dark car to judge it's location and distance from them. He went for it.

Their assailants, on the other hand, found themselves at a distinct disadvantaged. Unable to see Fenton, they knew now they'd antagonized him to the point of using the car as a ton and a half battering ram. A battering ram a gun will never be able to protect them from. They could shoot and kill Fenton, but it wouldn't stop the car smashing them to smithereens.

The gunman or woman attempted one last, desperate shot, in the hope of hitting something alive, but the bullet passed between Con and Fenton, and exited out the rear window.

At the last second, Fenton turned the car and slammed it sideways into the trunk of the other vehicle. Fenton hoped the manuever would cause less damage to Con than hitting nose first. He'd hopefully remain in the confines of the car, and not be tossed out onto the highway.

The jarred impact threw them sideways, deployed the airbags and saved Fenton's head from hitting anything solid. It failed to save him from suffering the burn of the seatbelt pull tightly to hold him securely into his seat. The front passenger window instantly spiderwebbed, but stayed within the confines of the window frame.

Con became dislodged, by the force of the impact, from his cushioned position between the seats. Suddenly on the back seat again, his feet, followed by his legs, slammed into one of the rear doors.

An eery silence fell for a few seconds, until an ear-splitting whirl of police sirens and braking cars punctuated it. Shouts came next, and the sounds of heavy footsteps "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" one of Con's ex-colleagues yelled, as several figures dashed by the remains of Fenton's car.

"CON?" Fenton yelled.

"I'm still here."

"Wow."

"You in one piece?"

"I think so, you?"

"Ditto."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Nothing serious."

Con sat up and looked at Fenton who lay across the front seats as he scrabbled about in the glove box. "I'm getting out," Con said, and attempted to open the door closest to him, forced it with his shoulder. Finally, he realized, in his uncoordinated state, he'd tried to open the door jammed up against the assailant's crippled vehicle. He switched direction, slid across to the other door and tried the other door. It opened easily.

He stepped out, but abruptly tumbled down onto his forearms on the highway; his lower limbs unable to support his weight. The door swung over his head and automatically clicked shut behind him. He knew his legs weren't busted, but they were numb and needed to recover. He rested there for several seconds before he attempted to get up. He found himself unable to get further than a seated position. "I'm too old for this," he thought mirthlessly, and slumped back.

The driver's door opened slowly and a leg edged out. A foot tentatively toed and tested the ground before a second leg followed. They were joined by Fenton's entire body as it slid to the ground, one hand clutching the door. Fenton's breath sounded labored, like Con's.

They found their wrecked car sandwiched on three sides by squad cars - armed police officers using their cars as barricades while simultaneously aiming guns warily in every direction. They were positioned mere feet from the two men. No way would the gunman now get at either Fenton or Con without inviting the full, returning fire of half of Bayport's finest. The Pandora Posse had made a tactical blunder by taking out Officer Bach, one of the Bayport Police Department's extended family members.

Con burst into laughter and he and Fenton glanced in relief at one another. Fenton let go of the door to offer his hand up, and Con slapped palms with him. Fenton held a cloth pressed to his head, evident from the stains on his shirt that blood had been freely running down his cheek and neck. "I've got a splitting headache," Fenton said, and half grinned at his own bad joke.

Con stopped laughing. His eyebrows shot up. "Fen?"

"I think the last bullet skinned me."

Inexplicably, James appeared along with Ben Wright who urgently crouched beside them. James eased the cloth from Fenton's head to inspect the wound…then, slapped it back down quickly. "It' gonna need stitches," he said. "Keep the pressure on Mr H, and I'll get a first aid kit. We've radioed for medical assistance. You okay, Dad? You face planted out the car!"

"And so would you, if you'd been trapped in an enclosed space getting sprayed with hot lead. I'm fine."

"Wait there. Don't move Mr H."

"No need for—"

"Don't underplay this, Flash. Stay still!" Con warned as James left quickly.

James returned and applied another compress to the top of the handkerchief Fenton had used. "Don't take the first one off, or it will start pouring."

"How come you two are here?" Con asked.

Ben explained. "We were behind you. Radioed it in. Made sure you had room to back up."

James shook his head, "The scariest thing I ever saw in my life, and some of the best action scenes outside of a movie!"

Con laughed. "It's like that for Fen and me every day, eh Flash?"

"It's one non-stop thrill-fest. What are we doing to do about Laura and Andrea? We need to get them out of here. Frank didn't exaggerate, it's already gotten crazy."

"Don't worry, I'll deal with them. I'm not the one with a hole in the head and blood pouring down my face."

"Not on your own, Con."

Con indicated to the squad cars with a sweeping action. "Take in the scene of beauty, Flash. I'm gonna travel in style with a fully armed escort, as you will on the way to the hospital. Here comes the ambulance." Con turned to James, "Make sure it's the real deal before you let Fenton on. Help me up; I'm on a mission of mercy."

-o0o-

The unmarked car in which Con rode, pulled up outside the Hardy residence, along with the escort vehicle.

He climbed out and moved to the back of the car. Seconds later, the driver and two cops from the other vehicle joined him. They huddled and held a short confab, which resulted in two of the officers jog around to the rear of the house. Con and their remaining colleague stepped up to the front door.

The cop turned his back and visually scanned the street for signs of danger, one hand rested on his firearm.

Con rapped on the Hardy's door and stepped back. Seconds later, the entrance opened and Laura emerged, surprised.

"Con, lovely to…look at the state of you!" Then she saw the armed officer guarding her door, and the two squad cars idling against the curb. "What's going on?"

"No time to explain." Con stepped into the house, pushed Laura in and shut the door behind him.

"CON!" she protested at his manhandling. She slapped his hands down.

"Laura, time's of the essence. You need to pack a bag quick and grab your passport." He took her by the elbow and frogmarched her up the stairs.

"What? Why? Where's Fenton?"

"The hospital."

"What!? Stop - stop - will you stop - STOP!" She grabbed the handrail and planted her feet. "STOP RIGHT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME CONSTANTINE RILEY?"

Con lost his grip on her arm and almost tripped on the next tread. He turned and saw the look on her face. He realized his heavy-handedness had gotten the better of him. "Sorry Laura. I'm panicking."

"Be calm and tell me what's going on. Why's Fenton in the hospital?"

"If I say the name 'Pandora', will it make you save your questions until we get you to the Police Precinct?"

Laura's eyes widened, "Yes it will." She clattered by him and tore up the stairs.