Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Fenton flipped the cell phone shut and ran a hand over his face, feeling weary beyond comprehension. He was closing in on thirty-six hours with no sleep and feeling every second of it. Looking up at Sam, he didn’t even try to hide the disappointment.

“That was Ezra,” he said, referring to Bayport’s Chief of Police. “He said they found several sets of prints in and on Joe’s car and were able to identify all of them.”

“Joe, Vanessa, Frank…” Sam guessed.

Fenton nodded, his eyes drifting to the speakers on the conference table. Frank and Joe had been returned to the room, apparently for the night. They’d been given something to eat and after talking for a while, had now fallen asleep. For the past hour he and Sam had heard nothing more than the sound of Joe occasionally shifting position on the cot and his steady, even breathing.

Staring at the speakers, Fenton thought he finally understood the saying ‘So close, yet so far’. He could hear every move his sons made, every word they spoke, every breath they took….Yet he had no idea where they were.

Even more disturbing was what they might be forced to do. The man, who seemed to be running this whole operation, said he expected Frank to detonate one of the bombs he’d had to build, using Joe as a bargaining chip to guarantee Frank’s cooperation. Would Frank be put in the position of having to sacrifice the lives of innocent people to save his brother’s life? Frank had already made it clear if it came down to that, he wouldn’t hesitate. Fenton’s stomach twisted at the thought.

What if Frank did have to detonate a bomb to save Joe’s life? A bomb that might possibly kill innocent people. Could he really live with that decision? And Joe…he’d never gotten over Iola Morton dying in his place. Could he live with the fact that Frank knowingly sacrificed innocent lives for his? Fenton had no doubt there would be permanent mental and emotional scars for both his sons.

“Why don’t you try and get some rest?”

Sam’s voice startled Fenton, who was so deep into his own thoughts he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. He looked up and saw Sam gesturing towards the couch.

“I’ll monitor the speakers and wake you if anything happens.” Sam stretched his arms overhead and then made himself comfortable in the leather chair. “Sounds like they’re down for the night though.”

Fenton glanced at the speakers one more time and nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to rest; he wanted to be doing something to find his sons – now! ‘God, I sound like Joe,’ he thought, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Wake me up in a few hours and we’ll switch,” Fenton said. Settling down on the couch he closed his eyes, though all he could see were images of his sons and knew the few hours of sleep he might catch would be fitful at best.

*****

Frank yawned and checked his watch again, sighing in exasperation. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning. While none of their captors had come into the room yet, they had turned the light on over an hour ago and true to form, Joe had yet to move a muscle. ‘He could sleep through a nuclear explosion,’ Frank thought somewhat enviously, as he sat on the uncomfortable cot, alternating between wondering what the day held in store and watching Joe sleep.

He spent a few minutes ticking off the endless scenarios in his head until he was distracted by Joe rolling over and, still mostly asleep, patting the empty space on the cot beside him. Suddenly Joe bolted upright and looked around dazedly until his gaze came to rest on Frank.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Frank greeted him.

Joe blinked, looked around the drab room again and then back at Frank. “I didn’t dream it?” he asked.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Crap…that really sucks,” Joe complained, leaning against the wall and rubbing his eyes.

“You’re telling me.”

“Any sign of our hosts yet?” Joe yawned and stretched.

Frank was about to reply when they both heard muted voices outside the door and a key scraping in the lock. “Speak of the devils…” he murmured.

The brothers stared at the door as it opened and the leader of the well-organized group walked in. Freshly showered, shaven and with a clean set of clothes, he appeared well rested and for some reason that irritated Frank immensely.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, standing to the side as two other men, armed with both guns and food, stepped into the room. “After you have breakfast you’ll each be permitted to use the bathroom and freshen up. You’ll then be brought upstairs and we can begin our day.”

Before either Hardy could respond all three men were gone, leaving them alone once again. Frank looked at Joe, who simply shrugged, pushed himself off the cot and began rummaging through the bags of food. Ravenously hungry, the brothers made quick work of breakfast. As if they were being watched, as soon as they finished the door opened once more, they were allowed to use the bathroom and then taken upstairs. Once they entered the room they were separated with Frank being escorted to the worktable while Joe was led to the now familiar chair.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Joe grumbled as he plopped down into the chair, rolling his eyes when he was tied securely in place. “Ya know, this is getting really old,” he complained and Frank knew his brother’s very limited patience was at an end. “Just tell us what the hell is going on.”

Frank winced hoping Joe’s insubordination didn’t get him a backhand across the face. He was just as annoyed and frustrated as Joe, but they were still at the mercy of these people. However to his surprise and relief, the leader just smiled indulgently at Joe.

“I see patience isn’t your strong suit, hm? Not to worry, Joe, you’re about to find out the final plans for the crime you and your brother are going to commit.”

Joe snorted and rolled his eyes but otherwise remained silent, apparently just as curious as he was frustrated.

Frank watched warily as the man stood at the end of the worktable, glancing at Joe before focusing all his attention on Frank, causing the elder Hardy to become very nervous.

“Frank is going to accompany four of my associates to the railroad tracks on the outskirts of town – the ones used to haul freight. At eleven-eighteen this morning a train is due to pass by. Prior to the train’s arrival, Frank will have sabotaged the tracks, forcing the train to stop.”

Frank listened impassively though a knot had formed in the pit of his stomach and it was growing rapidly.

“Once the train has stopped, Frank will board the cab, subdue and restrain the conductors. He’ll then set one of the bombs on the first car, detonate it and blow open the door. He’ll load all the cargo from that car into the vehicle he and my associates arrived in. He’ll do all this by himself. None of my associates will ever be seen by the conductors.

“Once the vehicle is full, he’ll rejoin my associates who will meet us at a prearranged point. At that time you’ll both be free to go. When the conductors free themselves and report the attack and theft to the police, the only suspect they’ll be able to identify is you,” the man finished, smiling at Frank.

“No one will be hurt?” Frank asked, wanting clarification that he wasn’t expected to kill anyone.

The man hesitated briefly before answering, throwing a quick glance at Joe that Frank did not like at all. “Not if everything goes according to plan.”

Before Frank could ask exactly what he meant, Joe interrupted. “What kind of freight is this train hauling?”

The man’s smile grew. “One hundred million dollars.”

Joe’s jaw dropped slightly and his eyes grew huge.

“It’s being removed from circulation, on its way to the Federal Reserve to be burned. But until it arrives at the Federal Reserve, it’s still officially in circulation.”

Frank closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. He was fairly sure that no matter how well he and Joe were framed, most people would find it hard to believe they could kill anyone or commit a violent crime. This, however, was something else entirely. If no one was hurt and the only thing missing was money destined to be destroyed…with a sickening feeling he realized it would make a wonderfully sensational headline. Fenton Hardy’s picture-perfect, all American boys gone bad. A few pieces of well-placed circumstantial evidence and people would be salivating at the scandal. ‘We are so screwed…’ He opened his eyes at the sound of Joe’s voice, defiant and angry.

“You went to a lot of trouble for nothing,” Joe scoffed. “Frank will never cooperate.”

“You sure about that?” the man asked, enjoying his little game.

“Absolutely,” Joe answered emphatically.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we.” With no further instructions he nodded at the bomb expert, who’d been standing behind Frank. The short, bespectacled man donned a pair of latex gloves. Picking up the strip of leather with the smaller explosive device securely attached to it, he silently moved towards Joe.

As Frank stared at the bomb – the bomb he’d built – the fears Joe had voiced the night before came flooding back to him…

“I just have a really bad feeling about that second bomb… and what’s up with the piece of leather? What do you need that for?”

Frank knitted his brow in confusion. “What piece of leather?”

“It was on the list. A strip of leather, twelve inches long and three inches wide. I just about went crazy trying to find it! Is leather really necessary to build a bomb?”

Frank shook his head, puzzled. “Not that I know of,” he murmured, acutely aware of the waves of nervous energy radiating off his brother. “I guess we’ll find out eventually…”

‘Eventually’ slammed into him and Frank suddenly realized what the second bomb and the strip of leather were for. “NO!” he cried out, lunging for smaller man. Before he could even get close, he was grabbed and held back by several of the others. Horrified, he continued to struggle as he watched helplessly, his anxiety made worse by the fact that Joe obviously hadn’t figured it out yet.

The bomb expert approached Joe, stopping next to the chair. From his vantage point, Frank had a clear view of his brother and despite the outward calm the younger Hardy was trying to project, Frank could see uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

The man leaned down and wrapped the strip of leather around Joe’s neck, fastened it securely and pressed a button to start the timer. ‘No, no, no…’ Frank repeated silently, hoping Joe could take it in stride. But the expression on Joe’s face changed suddenly – fear and disorientation replacing the schooled indifference – and Frank’s heart dropped. ‘Damn you, Rashman!’

Oblivious to the sudden change in Joe, the leader resumed speaking. Frank could only watch in helpless frustration.

“You,” the man said, gesturing towards Joe, “will accompany myself and our bomb expert. We’ll be waiting a quarter of a mile south of where Frank will stop the train.” He stopped and pointed to the now ticking bomb around Joe’s neck as he addressed Frank. “The only way to stop the timer and disable this bomb is by detonating the first one. Once that bomb detonates, it will send a signal to deactivate this one. The timer will stop and your brother will be fine. If however, you try and sabotage our plans by not following through, well…” he shrugged as if the consequences were beyond his control.

“But what if there are complications?” Frank cried out. “What if the train is late? What if the conductors give me trouble and it takes longer than planned?”

“I guess you’ll have to hope nothing goes wrong, won’t you?” the man replied. “Oh, and just so you know, if the strip of leather is removed before the signal to deactivate is received the bomb will go off immediately.”

“How do I know that isn’t a load of bull?” Frank asked defiantly. “I built that bomb myself and I didn’t put any kind of secondary timer on it.”

The man nodded at his bomb expert who was now in his customary place just behind Frank. “We made some adjustments after you retired for the night. And no, we weren’t sloppy. The only prints on the bomb belong to you.”

Frank listened, feeling sick. If he didn’t cooperate Joe would die, killed by a bomb Frank had built with his own hands. Glancing at his brother, Frank felt anger and rage mixing with helplessness. Joe hadn’t said a word since the strip of leather had been slipped around his neck. Right now he appeared to be barely holding on, torn between flashbacks of Keith Rashman and the present. Frank could only stare, powerless to stop his brother’s descent into his own private hell.

Frank watched as Joe’s breathing became harsh and ragged, the look on his face changing from slight disorientation to absolute panic. He could see Joe rapidly slipping away until he was no longer in the same room with Frank and the others, but now trapped in a nightmare. Frank snapped.

“Let me go!” Frank bucked and struggled against the men holding him back. “Let me help him!”

Unable to do anything, Frank watched Joe sink even further away, convinced he was chained to a fence in the wilderness, slowly suffocating and helpless at the hands of a man who wanted to torture him to death.

When a soft, muted sound escaped Joe’s lips, Frank lost it. Literally seeing red, he used the rage-induced adrenaline rush to his advantage, giving him the brief burst of strength he needed. Pulling his right arm forward, the man holding him literally flew through the air and crashed into a wall, dazed.

The others looked on, momentarily stunned, allowing Frank to easily escape the grip of the other man. Grabbing a knife off the table he swung around, snaking an arm about the neck of the bomb expert who’d been watching him so closely. Pulling the man tight to his chest, he held the knife against his throat.

“You let me talk to him,” he ordered nodding towards Joe, his voice deadly, “or I swear to God I will slit his throat right now.” He waited a beat and when there was no response pressed the knife into the man’s skin, drawing blood.

“All right, all right!” the leader said, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “You can talk to him for a minute,” he agreed, looking as if he’d like to know himself what was going on.

Slowly Frank inched his way towards Joe, dragging his hostage along with him. When he reached his brother, he released the man and gave him a nudge. In that instant, and not totally unexpected by Frank, the knife was wrenched from his grasp. He glared at the leader, challenging him to renege on his promise.

The man glanced at Joe and then back to Frank. “You’ve got one minute.”

Frank quickly crouched down in front of his distressed brother. “Joe, hey, come on. Look at me. I’m right here.” He put a hand on Joe’s arm and shook him gently, but Joe continued staring blankly at the wall, his breath coming in short, labored gasps. Frank shook him again, harder this time. “Joe! Look at me!”

Finally Joe refocused, slowly tilting his head downward and meeting Frank’s gaze.

“Frank?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Frank said gently, “I’m right here.”

While Joe now seemed to be aware of his surroundings he was nowhere near calm.

“Get it off me!” he begged, as Frank’s heart twisted. “Please, get it off me! I can’t…I can’t…breathe!”

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.