Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Frank’s whispered words, barely audible through the speaker, hit Fenton Hardy like a punch to the gut. His children were being used as pawns, their lives worth nothing more than a means to an end – and he felt utterly helpless.

“I’m sorry, Fenton.” Sam’s guilt-ridden voice did nothing to help assuage his own feelings of powerlessness. His sons’ lives were in danger and he could do nothing but sit and listen. “I got there as fast as I could, but they were already gone.”

The powerful, state-of-the art bug Sam had planted on Joe had surprised even Fenton in its effectiveness. They’d been able to hear not only Joe’s side of the conversation but the voice of the man who’d called him. As soon as they heard him instruct Joe to drive to the docks Sam had been out the door like a shot. He broke every law and speed record getting there, but had still arrived too late.

By the time he got to the old abandoned warehouse the only thing there was Joe’s car, his cell phone sitting open on the passenger seat. Joe, and whoever had taken him, was long gone. “Maybe the police will be able to get some prints off the car,” he offered, obviously desperate to find something to give Fenton hope.

Knowing Joe’s car would be stripped if left for any length of time in that part of town, Sam had suggested they call the police in. Resistant at first, Fenton finally gave in. Joe’s Mustang was now at the police impound lot being searched for fingerprints and other evidence that might give a clue as to where he’d been taken.

However Fenton Hardy was a realist. Up to this point whoever had taken his sons hadn’t left as much as a breadcrumb behind. He highly doubted they’d start slipping up now, let alone leave something as obvious as fingerprints behind.

“They’re pros, Sam,” he said wearily. “The only prints they’ll find in that car are Joe’s.”

Both of them returned their attention to the speakers, as the man who was apparently the ringleader continued speaking….

*****

Joe looked from Frank to the man who had spoken, refusing to let any of them see how shaken he was. “You’ll never get away with it.”

The man grinned. “Oh, I think we will. And the beauty of it all is when the police investigate the bombing they will find that Frank Hardy built and detonated a bomb using materials stolen by his younger brother. An open and shut case. I’m sure you’ll enjoy prison.” He eyed Joe with a smirk. “I know they’ll enjoy you.”

Joe shivered at the stomach-turning image that briefly flashed through his mind, quickly recovering to challenge defiantly, “How do you plan to explain those two phone calls you made to me?”

The man simply looked at him, amused. “Did you record those phone calls?”

“What?” Joe asked, confused.

“Did you record them?” he repeated, now smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“No,” Joe responded, suddenly wary.

“So when the police pull the phone records all they’ll see is that your brother called you twice in a six hour period – once right before you started your crime spree and again right afterwards, presumably to give you instructions, right Frank?”

“You son of a bitch!” Joe shouted, anger boiling over. Suddenly he was grabbed by two men and dragged away from Frank, his hands once again tied behind him.

Instinctively, Frank moved, trying to come to his aid, but was quickly restrained by two more men – and the barrel of an automatic weapon. “What are you doing?” Frank demanded, watching helplessly as Joe was led from the room. “Where are you taking him?!”

“Don’t worry. He’s just going downstairs to get some sleep. After all, he was up all night.” The man who had been amusing himself at their expense suddenly turned deadly serious. “Now I suggest you get to work.” He pointed at the plans and the items Joe had collected which were now spread out on the table. He then gestured towards a man standing slightly behind Frank and held up a cell phone. “And remember, he’s forgotten more about making bombs than you’ll ever know. If you even think about trying to sabotage them, he’ll know – and it’ll take me less than ten seconds to call the guard outside your brother’s room and give the order to kill him.”

Frank glowered silently at the man, frustrated and angry at allowing himself to be taken in the first place. He stepped toward the table but made sure he had his captors’ full attention, his voice cold as ice. “If you hurt my brother, I’ll blow us all to hell.”

*****

Fenton stared at the speakers, unable to believe what he was hearing. Rage, helplessness and frustration collided inside him and for one brief moment, he lost control. Picking up a notepad he flung it across the room, watching as it hit an empty glass, knocking it to the floor where it shattered.

“Damn it!” he yelled, slamming a chair against the table and pacing the room like an angry, caged animal. “That bastard is jerking my kids around, playing them against each other and threatening their lives! And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it!”

Sam watched, but didn’t try to stop him, not physically. Instead he used his voice, even and determined, to calm his friend. “That’s not necessarily true. You taught them well, Fenton. Yes, right now they’re essentially at the mercy of these people, but it’s obvious they know that. Joe did exactly what he was told so he wouldn’t endanger Frank’s life. And now Frank is doing the same thing.

“Right this second, there’s not a lot we can do. But if they continue to cooperate, they’re buying us time. And it could actually work in our favor for this guy to use Frank and Joe against each other. Neither of them will do anything that might get the other one hurt. So we don’t have to worry about them trying to escape, and possibly getting injured in the process, before we can come up with a plan to get them out of there.” Sam stopped and waited a beat, trying to gauge how effective his strategy was. Fenton had stopped his frenetic pacing and was now staring out a window at the beautiful summer morning.

“These guys don’t know they’re being monitored. Eventually we’ll hear something to let us know where they are, or what they’re planning. And when that happens we’ll have the upper hand – and the element of surprise.”

“And exactly how much are we going to be able to hear now?” Fenton said tiredly. “They’ve isolated Joe away from everyone and—”

Fenton stopped abruptly, lifted his head slightly and sniffed, the smell of freshly brewing coffee starting to drift in. He turned to Sam and spread his hands helplessly. “Great…what am I supposed to tell Laura?”

*****

It was almost noon when Frank was taken back to the small concrete bunker. The same guard was stationed outside but when he entered he saw there were two cots in the room, with Joe stretched out on one of them, an arm thrown across his eyes. By the steady rise and fall of his chest, Frank assumed he was sleeping and quietly settled on the other cot, leaning against the wall and watching his younger brother.

It was only when the door opened and two men came in, one armed and the other bearing a large bag from a fast food restaurant, that Joe finally began to stir. The deadbolt sliding into place fully woke him and he sat up, blinking sleepily and looking around, slightly dazed.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Frank said, pulling food from the bags. “Hamburger or cheeseburger?” he asked, holding two wrapped items aloft.

Joe rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of the cot, mumbling, “Cheeseburger.”

Frank passed him the burger, a container of French fries and a soda, then resettled himself on the hard cot. They ate in silence, but Frank couldn’t stop the questions swirling in his head.

“Any idea who these guys are?” Joe asked suddenly, his thoughts apparently running parallel to Frank’s.

“Not a clue,” Frank shook his head.

“Well they apparently know us,” Joe stated the obvious. “They know you’re a closet bomb expert.”

“And they know you’re an expert cat burglar,” Frank raised an eyebrow, grinning when Joe blushed.

“Yeah, well, I only use my powers for good,” Joe muttered.

Frank chuckled softly, taking another bite of his burger and chewing thoughtfully. “I just wish I knew what it is they’re planning. You know, what do they want to blow up,” he wondered aloud.

Joe stopped with the drink halfway to his mouth, froze for a moment and then put it down. Frank saw a look pass over his face, a flash of grief and pain. Joe stared blankly for a moment, then pushed himself off the cot. He walked to the other side of the small room and was silent for several minutes. When he turned around Frank almost flinched; the expressive blue eyes that could speak volumes without words were overflowing with anguish.

…

“Frank, please tell me you’re not really gonna go through with this,” Joe begged. “I mean building bombs?” It had been seven years since a bomb meant for Frank and Joe had killed Iola Morton, but sometimes – like now – the memories and the pain were still as fresh as the day it happened.

Frank looked at him in a way Joe had never seen before and it scared him. “They didn’t leave me much choice,” he replied his voice almost devoid of emotion.

“There’s always a choice!” Joe countered bitterly. He knew he was talking with his emotions and his heart instead of his head but he couldn’t help it. This whole subject – bombs – hit way too close to home.

Frank suddenly turned on him, angry. “What choice, Joe?! What choice do I have? Agree to build their bombs or refuse and watch them blow your head off? Because that’s what they’ll do, without even batting an eye!”

“But bombs kill people, Frank!”

“I know that!” Frank spat out, his eyes burning not with anger but pain. “Believe me I do not want to play God, but if it’s a choice between a stranger’s life and yours…” his voice trailed off with the weight of being forced to make a choice no one should ever have to face.

“Those strangers could be someone’s daughter or sister or…girlfriend!” Joe cried out, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Frank stared for a moment and Joe could see he’d cut his brother to the quick. “That was a cheap shot,” Frank finally said, his voice low and fully reflecting the pain he felt. “And right now I don’t care what you think of me,” he waited until he had Joe’s full attention. “No stranger’s life will ever be worth more than my own brother’s.”

Joe sank down onto the edge of the cot. Lack of sleep mixed with reawakened pain and he buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” The words were barely a whisper, but he knew Frank would hear…and understand. Seconds later he felt the cot shift as Frank sat down beside him.

“I know.”

Joe felt Frank’s hand on his back, and wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse. He’d used the ultimate weapon on his brother – words – and they had hit the mark, inflicting the kind of pain a gun or a knife never could. Yet Frank still forgave him without question.

Joe scrubbed a hand across his face and looked up, staring at the wall. “We’re pretty well screwed, huh?”

“Looks like it,” Frank agreed. “They’ve got some bomb expert watching me so I can’t even sabotage the bombs – he’d know in a heartbeat.”

Joe looked at him perplexed. “If they have someone who knows how to build bombs, why go to all this trouble? Why not just let him build them and be done with it?”

“Because this way, if they manage to pull it off, they’ll get away scot-free.”

Joe sat up, confused. “How?”

Frank leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “They haven’t really told me everything yet but they’ve told me enough. So far every single piece of evidence can only be traced back to two people – you and me.”

“No, they left me a note!” Joe said excitedly. “Telling me I had to collect all the items on the list by six a.m. if I ever wanted to see you again!”

“And where is this note?” Frank asked bluntly.

“It was in the trunk of my car…with the rest of the stuff,” Joe replied, a wariness creeping into his voice.

“Which means they probably already destroyed it.”

“But Biff and Phil - they saw it! They can testify to what it said!”

“Biff and Phil…our best friends since childhood,” Frank pointed out. “It would take less than a minute for even a lousy defense lawyer to convince a jury they were just covering for us.” He sighed heavily. “The only fingerprints on anything are mine and yours. The only phone calls you got were made from my cell phone. It’s our word against theirs. And the facts will show that I built two bombs with stolen materials provided by you.”

“Uh-uh,” Joe shook his head adamantly.

“What do you mean ‘Uh-uh’?” Frank asked, puzzled.

“I didn’t steal anything,” Joe denied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well if you didn’t steal all that stuff, how did you get it?”

“I paid for it. Every single thing,” Joe insisted. “I left the price stickers and enough money to cover it right by the register. The only thing they can get me for is B and E and maybe trespassing but I didn’t steal a thing.”

Frank looked at him, amusement mixing with admiration and then he chuckled. “For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Joe grinned for a moment, then it slowly faded away. “We really are screwed – aren’t we?”

Frank sobered, studying Joe carefully. “Did you…follow their instructions to the letter?” he asked.

Joe easily read between the lines. The room didn’t appear to be bugged but Frank was taking no chances. It was his roundabout way of asking if Joe had been able to call their father, the police – anyone – for help at some point.

Joe’s shoulders slumped a little. “Yeah…I did. I wasn’t sure if they were bluffing or not and I didn’t want to take any chances.” He looked at Frank apologetically.

Frank gave him a sad little smile. “Yeah…we’re screwed.”

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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.