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The Secret Spaces
Chapter 21
Agent Clara's cellphone signal had been traced to a town two hours east of Bayport. Normally, Joe would have enjoyed speeding along in a police cruiser, but today was different. He knew that coming from different directions, there would be countless cars- ambulances, FBI agents, undercover cops, and state police- all rushing to meet and set up a perimeter around the location of the signal. Joe looked at his watch- still a half hour to go.
He took out his phone and sent his mom and Vanessa a text to tell them what was going on and where they were. He had promised Vanessa that he would keep in touch as often as possible, and it was a promise that he fully intended to keep. He hit the button to check the news of the day and saw the top headline: "Criminal Hunters Star Jonathan Gellers dead at 28." Joe cursed under his breath and turned off the phone.
He glanced at his brother, who he was sitting with him the back seat. Frank had been quiet and withdrawn the whole trip, and Joe knew he was worried sick about Callie in addition to dealing with Johnny's arrangements and trying to concentrate on finding their father.
"Frank? How're you doing?" he asked, reaching over to touch his brother's arm.
Frank turned to him. "Sorry, Joe. I was just thinking." Frank's voice was calm, but he looked...defeated.
Joe gave him a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be okay, Frank."
"Shouldn't I be telling you that?" Frank responded quietly with the smallest of smiles. "That's my job as your older brother."
Joe didn't tease him back. "Let's get these bastards. Then, it'll be okay."
Frank rubbed his eyes and nodded.
"Frank?" Joe asked again, concerned.
"Do you ever wonder if this is all worth it?" Frank asked him. Joe noticed him fiddling with his wedding ring. "I mean, for every one guy we put away, there are five more out there."
Joe listened. Frank wasn't normally so expressive with his innermost musings. "One away is better than one on the street, right? It'll be okay, Frank, because…"
"Because why, Joe?" Frank asked in a tight voice. "WILL it be okay? On this case alone, our father has been missing for almost a week. Mom's barely holding it together. Chief Collig almost died. Tony, Biff, and Chet are worried because these maniacs know who they are. Vanessa almost died. Callie almost died. My child and my wife are still barely holding on, and one of my best friends is dead. So even when all this is done and over with, I still don't think "okay" covers it." His voice held a bitterness that Joe hadn't heard before, and he felt off center again as he faced forward, not having an answer for his brother.
A full five minutes passed before Frank spoke again. "I'm sorry, Joe," he said remorsefully with a heavy sigh, and reached out, squeezing Joe's shoulder. "I know you've been through the same thing as I have. I was being selfish. I'm just kind of overwhelmed right now. I didn't mean to lash out at you."
Finally Joe met Frank's eyes. "You're not wrong, you know, Frank," he said at last. "But I have to believe that we're doing something for a bigger cause than us, and that yes- even if we only got one more criminal off the streets, then we did something good. I can't question that- and I'm surprised you would, too."
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm not really questioning it. I just never wanted my personal choices to affect my family, you know?" Frank's voice was quiet, but his demeanor had changed somewhat. He was getting more focused. Joe watched Frank's expression change as he continued. "Of course you know. You knew before I did. You lost Iola." He leaned his head back. "Boy, I've been a pretty awful brother through this, huh?"
Joe smiled. "No you haven't. You've been human. You're living a nightmare. I'm just used to you being pretty perfect; it's disconcerting when you're like a normal person."
"Uh... thanks?" Frank questioned, returning the smile.
"Guys, we're here," Pat called from the front seat as he slowed the car down.
"Thanks," Joe replied, feeling determined. He was going to go with Pat and FBI agent Gold; Frank would be going with FBI agent Jessops.
Frank turned to Joe as he took out his registered gun and made sure it was loaded. "Let's do this, bro. I've got your back, always. Be careful."
"You, too," Joe said as they both exited the car and started to plan their route.
With a final wave at each other, they separated. It was time to get their dad.
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Fenton moaned slightly as he struggled against the ropes now holding his hands together. He was hungry and thirsty, though somehow he always managed to have just enough to get by. The worst part of all of this was the incessant waiting. It was worse than the occasional beating; worse than the threats. What were they waiting for?
Every day he was told how his family was systematically being destroyed. He was shown stories in the paper of Ezra's accident and told of his death. He was told that they had Laura, and all the things they were doing to her, and he felt sick and horrified, though he tried not to show it. It could all be a lie; he knew that. But it was the grains of truth that he knew… he had heard of Ezra's accident vaguely somewhere, had seen the picture of Callie and John Gellers that made bile come up whenever he saw the image- that made him question everything. That picture could have been altered, but dear God- what if it wasn't? Had Callie died? It was an unspeakable horror that called into question everything else.
Just yesterday, he had heard the name Joe, and it reminded him of his own son, about whom he was extremely worried. But then he had started listening, piecing together every detail he could think of, all based on the one name he did have; Alan Cotnig. And then it had started to make sense. It wasn't Joe; it was Jonas. And that was all he had needed to figure out that somehow not only had Alan Cotnig not died in that fire all those years ago, but also neither had David, his brother, the man with the raspy voice who loved to show him the news of his family's demise. And the only Jonas he knew, which had been buried in the recesses of his memory, was Jonas Ezekiel, arsonist. That had given him a very bad feeling as he realized definitively that he was in some sort of firehouse, and that simply couldn't be a coincidence.
How Special Agent Clara fit into this was beyond him. Was he related to one of the men in the fire? Something was OFF about him, though, and Fenton knew it. Yes, he hit him- but never as hard as he could have. He was only violent when David and Jonas were around. And he looked almost regretful when he had to act out. All of that info, plus Clara's simple "trust me" several days ago, made him start to question things.
Before he could contemplate further, Jonas Ezekiel came bursting into the room, followed by David Cotnig and Clara. "The feds are here," Cotnig said, frazzled.
"What?" Fenton asked, incredulous.
"Listen, Hardy," Cotnig sneered, getting right into his face. "I don't know how they found us, but they're sure as hell going to find you quite different than how they left you. We're getting out of here; you're not. Just know that we've won. Your precious family is destroyed, but we're not. As long as you're dead, we win. We're survivors."
Fenton noticed Ezekiel scrambling around the room as Cotnig spoke, gathering materials. And spreading some, Fenton noticed at once. Then, he smelled it, and his eyes grew wide.
"You see it?" Cotnig asked. "I thought you might like to suffer like my brother did," he rasped. "A fire is a horrible way to die. See, first you inhale thick smoke, and panic as you can't breathe. Before you pass out, you'll feel the flames creeping up on you, the heat ready to devour you. And when it does?" He cackled maniacally. "You'll feel the flesh rip from your skin, smell yourself burn. You'll luck out - if you die." He poked Fenton right in his chest, hard. "Goodbye, Hardy. A...B…C... you later…"
He ran from the room, followed by Clara. The gasoline surrounded the perimeter of the room, and, before Ezekiel left, he turned.
The single motion of a dropping match.
He struggled against his ropes to no avail. Before Fenton could even process the scene, the irony of being burned to death in a firehouse, the room burst into flames.
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Special Agent Clara looked around in panic. This wasn't the way the mission was supposed to end. One more day- just one more day- and he would have had everyone in position. His phone. It must have been his damned phone that let the signal off early.
He looked in front of him, coughing against the smoke in the distance. Jonas Ezekiel lay screaming on the ground in front of him, having been shot by Clara and subsequently handcuffed. The look of utter shock in his eyes as Clara identified himself almost made it worth it- almost. But Fenton Hardy, the poor man, was trapped inside a burning building, and he didn't know if he could get there on time.
Flicking the emergency signal on his phone, he turned around. He had to try to save him.
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David Cotnig couldn't believe his eyes. He'd doubled back to make sure that the building was secured and witnessed Clara shoot Ezekiel. What the hell?! He was a double agent?! How had he been fooled all this time? He felt rage. He raised his own gun and pointed it at Clara, but the damned fool had headed back towards the firehouse. He sneered, deciding he may as well hang back and watch it all play out quickly before he ran.
He reached into his pocket and contacted, via encrypted radio, his brother Alan and Tobias. Annunziata, the fool, had gotten himself killed a few days ago. At least he had managed to get that picture, and to kill Gellers and seriously hurt Fenton Hardy's daughter-in-law.
So now it was him, Alan, and Tobias. The three blind mice. At least they were safe for now. A mirthless grin came to his face. Yes, safe. And at least one was in proximity to finish the job. If he was going to go out, he could try to protect his brother until Alan could get to his backup location. Plus, Fenton Hardy would be dead. Gellers was dead already. Frank Hardy's wife was dying; she would be easy enough to finish. Joe Hardy's wife and Laura Hardy would be more difficult, but not impossible, especially with the plan. If only he could get to the plan, the mission will have been accomplished.
As he went to retreat to higher ground, he heard a voice that made his skin crawl. Was that… was that Fenton Hardy's son? He looked at the young man in the distance, recognized the pictures he'd seen. He saw the building start to really fill with flames, but Hardy had stopped, seeming to be thinking of the quickest route to the building. Maybe it would be easier than he thought…
He raised his gun.
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Joe nodded at Agent Gold as Pat started running. "There- that way- I'll go east; it's the quickest way." He radioed his location to the state police officers, and took off.
Joe stared in horror at the building in the distance. It was so far away. His dad was in there-he sensed it.
"Stay here, son," Gold said. "We're on it."
"Like hell I will," Joe argued, getting ready to leave.
Before Gold could respond, Joe heard a loud crack in the distance, and felt a burning pain in his lower leg. He couldn't even process what had happened before he felt another shot rip through his thigh from behind. He looked down in shock as blood burst all over him. A third BOOM and he felt a pain so bad he couldn't breathe as a bullet ripped through his side.
He felt Agent Gold throw himself on top of him, but the world was moving in slow motion.
First red, then white, then finally black swam before his eyes.
His last conscious thought was to get to his father. He tried to move, but screamed in pain. The sound of his own agonizing cry was the last thing he heard.